


Remedy

by IdrewAcow



Series: The Reason [2]
Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, F/F, Kidnapping, One-Sided Attraction, Psychological Trauma, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 08:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19437436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrewAcow/pseuds/IdrewAcow
Summary: It's time for Luka to face the consequences of her actions and, if at all possible, to pick up the pieces. Warning: part 2 of The Reason! Ruin must be read first!





	1. Razor's Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Here's part 2! Just like with part one, I've only re-read this very briefly. Feel free to give feedback!

When Luka finally got home, she wasn't sure if she was awake. She kept pinching herself, almost asking out loud if she really had just met some sort of mafia boss, if she really was tasked with borderline espionage. If all that really had happened just because of some stupid post online. Because of a stupid hobby.

She immediately took that post down. Then, realizing that an envelope with a ridiculous sum of money was still stuck in her pocket, she went to find a hiding place for that.

But first, she had to count it. She opened the envelope and found five thousand scarab in there, cut into a few fives, a handful of tens, several fifties and far too many hundreds. The previous payments had been sitting in a jar with the rest of her on-the-side profits, the bills stuffed in haphazardly in her excitement.

She wasn't so sure she was as excited as before.

Immediately, she went online to purchase a few safes. One looked like a book, a dictionary really, which she could put in her meagre bookcase. While it wasn't fireproof, and could easily be carried away, reviews suggested that it looked far too convincing for it to tip anyone off. The other was a more classic, fireproof safe she would put under her bed or behind some pants in her closet. Speedy delivery, they would arrive the next day. Then, she went to the bank and put a few of the bills into her account. Just a few, nothing suspicious at all, she hoped. Plus, her boss couldn't reasonably expect her to keep every single bill, right? Where would she put it all, in her mattress?

When the safes arrived, all of the large bills went into the book, and the numerous smaller cuts were stuffed in the secured box and hidden in her closet. She reasoned that if her house were to go up in flames, the ridiculous sums would disappear into ash, but she would still have enough cash to survive for a while. The keys were then put in other books in her bookshelf, like bookmarks.

She hoped that would be good enough, because her first letter had already arrived. Its paper was strangely rugged, yet glossy.

_Get to know the house. Take photos._

That was it. Posing as a signature, there was simply an address.

Luka sighed deeply, trying to wrap her head around the situation. Then she waited till it was dark, grabbed her camera, and headed out.

* * *

Luka whirled around towards the door. There, leaning against the doorframe, teary-eyed and panting, stood Miku.

She's alive.

The realization felt like she was given a second life. Forget a second chance, a second breath. It swept her up and awake like a wild wave crashes onto a beach. It stole her breath and stopped her heart.

She could rewrite everything, redo it all!

"You!" hissed the girl, still shaking. But anger seemed to fill her instead of weakness, instead of the near-death experience. " _You!_ "

Miku was so incredibly, unbelievably alive.

Luka stood, legs weak, but the feeling that washed over her was overpowering. It felt like the entirety of the world laid open before her, with its limitless possibilities. The total contrary of the emotions that had filled her previously seized her to her core, all of the nightmares she had envisioned were no longer incoming, and all of the things she had dreamed could actually come true. Instead of mourning parents, avoiding the law and attempted suicides, she could go out, set Miku free, show her what was out there. Maybe even make her laugh. Just by seeing her standing, breathing, crying even, Luka felt as if literally anything was possible.

And this time, she wanted 'anything' to be everything good.

Luka was so absorbed by the epiphany that she never heard the tealette yell at her, or saw the pillow coming. The blow to her head sent her reeling, tumbling back to the floor. The tile hurt her knees and her head probably missed the bathtub by mere centimeters, but all Luka knew was that she needed to fix this. She needed to fix everything. All of the pieces of the puzzle came together in her mind. Miku needed to get safe. The ones who wanted her dead needed to be convinced that she was just that. She needed to, essentially, make Miku disappear. Kidnap the furious girl she thought she had managed to kill.

She was dancing on a razor's edge.

Adrenaline filled her to the brim. Immediately she was back up on her feet despite suffering an ongoing pillow assault. The girl was screaming at her, and while she couldn't hear her, hear anything, she knew that they needed to get quiet, as soon as possible.

Luka grabbed her pillow-wielding hand with one of her own, and covered her mouth with the other, shushing her. Miku glared at her with a rage Luka forced herself to ignore. They needed to get safe. Quickly.

"Please, please, just be quiet," she pleaded, feeling that the both of them were shaking like leaves in the wind. She still tasted the bile on her tongue. "Please, shh."

Miku shook herself free but didn't scream. The room filled with an uneasy semi-silence, wherein Luka managed to gather her senses. With every passing second her goal became clearer and clearer, and with every passing second, Miku shook with more and more anger.

"How? Who…" she panted, the emotion rolling off of her in waves.

"Listen: we need to leave," started Luka, hands up in a calming stance. "We need to get you—"

"How dare you!" snapped Miku, louder than the pinkette anticipated. "You try— Try to _kill_ me, and now you want to kidnap me?!"

Luka shushed her. "Listen," she said harshly, hoping to get the girl's attention. "If I leave you here, then someone else will come here. And, trust me, they won't have the reasons I had to stop."

Miku stared at her for a while, and only their breathing could be heard. Luka felt that the girl in front of her was as wound up as a spring.

"There is absolutely no way I can convince you right here, right now, that I only have the best intentions," she continued, hands open and in front of her. "But that's the case. If I were to leave, we'll both be in a seriously bad place tomorrow."

"So you're going to kidnap me?!" hissed the girl in outrage, still out of breath.

"There's nothing else I can do."

Miku dropped the pillow but was obviously still far from being calm.

"Tell me. Tell me what you're going to do to me. What you want from me."

"All I want is to get us both away from people who want you dead."

"How?"

Luka faltered. "I— I can't tell you."

"Why?"

"No time. And I'm still making this up as we speak."

"What?!" Miku snapped, looking ready to continue her assault with her bare hands.

"Listen," Luka said, hoping to be more reassuring than anything else, but when had she last spoken to somebody? She could barely string her sentences together. "I— I didn't expect you to live. Ever since I saw you standing I've been thinking of ways to get us free. Free, you get that?"

The word seemed to hit the tealette just enough for her to freeze. Once again, they shared an uneasy silence broken only by their breathing.

But Luka was so full of adrenaline she swore it would pour out of her ears. She flushed the toilet, then wiped down its surface. She inspected the floor, but her hair was properly tied up; no problem there, she hoped.

When she picked up the pillow, Miku yelped, startled out of her thoughts.

"Where will we be going?"

Luka thought for a few good seconds before answering, "My home. I have nothing else."

Miku didn't look convinced. Luka took the pillow to the bed and made it all look a little nicer.

What else was there to think about, she wondered. She had left dirt in the basement, maybe even in the whole house. She'd have to take care that no footprints could be found. But otherwise, she could only assume, after making sure that she wasn't actually bleeding from her hands, that she hadn't left a single trace behind.

She went for Miku's closet and took a pair of sneakers.

"Here, put these on," she ordered, her voice gentle. Miku was suddenly very docile and took the shoes without a word, but she didn't do anything with them. Luka didn't notice at first but then realized that the poor girl was probably borderline shell-shocked, washed up on some beach after the wave of adrenaline and rage had left her there.

Luka was caught off guard. She needed to help, somehow, she knew that, except she couldn't fathom a single way to comfort the girl. She needed to get her safe, she could do that to some degree, but comfort? She hadn't spoken to a person in a regular state of mind in months. Her last birthday party was celebrated in the deepest form of self-loathing. And she didn't even need to comfort anyone back then. She was as empty-handed as she could possibly be in a single second.

Luckily, the tealette somehow managed to put on her shoes on her own. All of her movements were careful, extraordinarily deliberate. It was as if she was wrapped in bubble wrap, padded as could be, scared of every atom in the world and desperately trying to protect herself from it all. Or, rather, it was as if she was trying to move while submerged in a thick syrup, and every bit of energy counted. Luka couldn't find any jackets or coats in her closet, so she removed her own hoodie and put it around the girl's shoulders. A sincere attempt, but she knew that it would ring hollow.

"Come on, we need to go."

She led the way down to the basement. With every room they passed, Luka went through a mental checklist of things she could have missed. Miku followed obediently, quietly, eventually even putting her arms into the sleeves of her hoodie. But she hesitated at the basement steps.

"It's only another way to get outside," Luka tried to assure her.

Apparently, that was enough. Luka kicked around dirt so that no single detail was left of the bottom of her shoe, then slid open the window, an action which got no reaction from the tealette. Then, Luka told her to climb up.

A frail voice answered her, "Really?"

"If you want, I can go first."

Miku nodded, and Luka obliged. She climbed up and out of the window and noticed that she hadn't put the grate back when she had entered.

"Come on," she said softly, reaching her hands down through the window. To her surprise, Miku grabbed her by the wrist and followed. They proceeded the same way to get out of the hole in the ground. Miku stood on the lawn, quietly, while Luka closed the window, put the grate back in its place, and upset the dirt sufficiently. Then she scanned for neighbors, but everything was dead quiet.

"Ok, let's go," she said, hoping to be encouraging. The last thing, the very last thing she wanted Miku to do, was to run away and get to the police; that would sign both their death warrants. Luckily, the younger girl did follow her and didn't even protest when they needed to get over the garden fence.

What to do next, Luka had a fair idea, but was still stringing together the details as they walked. She made sure to walk next to her protégé of sorts. She didn't want to lead her, nor did she want to push her before her. She matched her pace, instead of forcing her to match her's. But what else could she do?

Her first step was to avoid all surveillance. An easy task in and of itself, but the real question was; where to go?

Within the next minute, she decided to go to the river. Miku walked along without question, even though she most likely had no idea where they were in the slightest. This was probably her first day away from the house in ages, Luka thought, and she was being led somewhere against her will.

Wonderful.

The skies overhead darkened, but Luka paid no mind. Soon, after going through a park, she could hear the river roaring just ahead. It had rained upstream just the previous day, and the current was vicious. Multiple signs warned passersby of flash floods, and Luka decided to use the hazard to their advantage.

Miku hesitated visibly when the river came into view. Despite the darkness, the white foam in the water was obvious, and its roar was intimidating.

"What?" she asked, her voice almost drowned away.

"Give me your shoes," said Luka.

"Huh?"

"Your shoes."

Miku looked down at them.

"They're new. I haven't really worn them before."

Luka tried to ignore the painful pull on her heartstrings.

"I'll get you new ones," promised the pinkette. "Please. Here, wear mine."

They exchanged shoes, Luka simply taking hers off and standing on the cold river bank, while Miku carefully transferred her feet from one shoe to the next, her movements still as deliberate as possible. Luka then picked up Miku's shoes, took one look at them, and flung one right into the river. The second was tossed further down the bank. Maybe it would be caught in the rage of the waters, maybe not, but that was part one on the list done.

Miku watched on in silence, and Luka tried to believe that she was not crying at the loss of her brand-new shoes.

"Ok…" What next? "Here, let's get back to the park. Walk on those logs," she instructed. "Be careful to not leave any footprints."

Miku nodded and did as she was instructed in her deliberately careful way, going from log to pile of leaves to stone. Once back on the path in the park, they resumed walking side-by-side.

Luka was carefully trying to piece together the next step of her plan. This proved to be slightly difficult, as her socks had been drenched by mud and offered little to no protection from the pebbles on the path. Every now and then she stepped on something and did her best not to let it show. But the stings were there, incredibly distracting. Those tiny pains reminded her of the scratches that covered her arms and face. As if the mere thought woke them up, she realized they stung, and the bruises that covered her body pulsed dully.

They still had to evade cameras. The walk to her home from the park was straightforward enough, but there was no way to access her front door from the street without passing under at least one camera. There was one way to get there undetected, but that required going through a few backyards and dark, narrow alleyways. That wasn't something she was going to ask of Miku.

While Luka tried to think of the best way to proceed, she simply walked around in circles, killing time. Maybe Miku noticed that they kept passing in front of the same shops and homes, maybe not, she wasn't sure: Luka couldn't decipher her state of mind. The tealette's steps were slow, hesitating only when Luka tried to turn them left or right, as if she was afraid to make a mistake that would cost her her life. Her eyes, however, were trained forward. She didn't look down, and she never looked in Luka's direction. She was probably still in shock, the pinkette thought. Trying, in vain, to process what exactly was going on, trying to find where it went wrong, why it was happening to her.

Luka would do her very best to explain when the time came. But, first things first, get her a shelter of sorts.

Killing time, she decided, was probably a good thing to do. When they would eventually pass under a camera on their way home, it would less easily be attached to the kidnapping of an innocent girl. People walk around all night long, Luka knew. Any footage of them long after the actual kidnapping could hardly be associated with them any more than any other stranger caught on tape.

Then again, she realized that it would be difficult for authorities to figure out when exactly Miku was kidnapped. They couldn't exactly take the temperature of the bed to determine when someone was last in it, could they? Especially when the first person to discover anything, Miku's father, would only return after five days. No clocks had been broken, no computer unplugged. In the end, she supposed that it all would only work to their advantage.

But, when authorities would, inevitably, search the place for clues, they would certainly find the broken lock and the grate Luka had sabotaged. As for the hollow, they would find Miku's stuff in there. But what else could they possibly find? What else had Luka forgotten? What tiny detail would lead them to their demise?

After quite a while of walking around, maybe half an hour, Luka finally managed to piece together a proper plan. She directed the two of them towards her home, the easiest way to reach it, and stopped before they reached an intersection which was heavily guarded by cameras.

Luka sighed deeply before turning towards the tealette. Miku looked at her for the first time since they left the river, wary. She seemed to be waking up somewhat, and the thought briefly scared Luka.

"Ok, you're going to walk the final stretch on your own," started the pinkette. She handed the girl her keys as she spoke, "Take these."

Miku accepted the keys, movements still slow and precise, without saying a word.

Luka gave her directions, hoping to keep it simple enough. Miku didn't break eye contact as she listened, but was she really soaking up what she was hearing?

"Here," Luka pulled the hood over the girl's head. "I'll be taking another way home. I— I'll need to you open the back window in the bathroom so that I can get in. It's locked from the inside."

Miku didn't acknowledge anything, but the pinkette wasn't about to ask anything else of her, not even if she had understood. She felt a certain relief when Miku turned around and crossed the intersection before disappearing from view as she turned to the left, as instructed.

Luka went the other way, walked down a block and crossed the street somewhere else. Then, she dove into an alley, climbed a garden fence and quickly jumped from one garden to the next, ending up between a few apartment buildings. The small patio of sorts she landed in belonged to one of the apartments that surrounded her. It was hardly ever used since the only view they had was the back side of the other apartments and their bathroom windows. She used this route multiple times to avoid detection by cameras, but as she had told Miku, that night she had left her window locked.

She approached her window, knowing fully that Miku should already have been there for a few minutes. The window should be open. But just as Luka put her hand on the handle, she froze.

What if Miku had simply waited, and had darted off? After all, she seemed to be coming out of her shock. In any other situation, Luka would have rejoiced that the trauma —she hoped she didn't have to call it that— had only lasted so long. But right then, she needed full cooperation, and the docility had been very helpful. A rebellious girl would be infinitely difficult to save via kidnapping.

Miku wasn't rebellious, was she. At least, not to her parents. So much could have gone wrong, though. What would stop anything from going wrong right then?

It took Luka a long time to actually try the handle: she shook too much, the fear was too great. What would she do, if she were to find out that it was still locked, that Miku had not listened?

Luka breathed deeply, feeling the handle in her grip without trying to move it. Count down from three, she told herself, and just go for it. Three, two, one…!

It turned. The fear in her snapped like a rubber band and she relaxed instantly with a deep, deep sigh. She crawled in, then closed, and locked, the window behind her.

She quietly walked inside while taking off her socks, not sure what to expect. Miku had taken a seat on her couch and stared directly at her. The windows behind her let in very little light, yet somehow she managed to get a sort of glow, a halo of sorts, and suddenly Luka had no idea what to do next.

Now what?

It was late, or rather, it was becoming early. Four thirty had just rolled by. Luka suddenly had a guest of sorts, a someone she knew who didn't know her. They both had to stay safe, and Miku needed to become invisible, dead to the world. She needed to disappear completely. Nobody could see her.

Luka immediately went around her room and locked all of the doors and windows. Where she had curtains, she pulled them shut, too. Everything went dark. As she walked away from the curtains behind the couch, Miku handed her the keys. But she didn't say a word.

Luka accepted the keys, feeling awkward, terrible, and incredibly nervous. She quickly double locked the front door before hanging the keys from their hook, then turned on a light, busying herself partly just to give herself something to do. Of course, safety was from then on her absolute number one priority and needed to be taken seriously, but she was surprisingly scared of any interaction with the tealette.

Poor Miku, she thought. She was probably waiting for the worst to happen to her. She had to admit that it was a miracle that the girl had followed her at all. Maybe she was regretting her decisions, realizing that her abductor could have lied, and now she could just as well be in the clutches of a sex-trafficking ring, or some other similar nightmare.

What else could she possibly do? Keeping the girl safe, she could do to some capacity, as long as she cooperated. But comfort? It was an art that eluded her altogether.

Maybe, just maybe, she could give her something familiar.

She opened her fridge and found the milk. Two seconds later, she was preparing Miku's old-time favorite.

The tealette seemed to notice, for she had quietly crept into the kitchen. Luka wasn't caught unawares, however; even as she watched the milk slowly warm up, she was far too tense to let anything escape her senses. She cast an awkward glance in her direction, moving aside so that the girl could see what she was preparing, in case she didn't know already.

"How did you know?" asked the girl, shy but slightly more alert than before.

Ah.

"I'll explain tomorrow, I promise," whispered Luka, hoping that her word had some value to Miku at that point. "But first, I think we both need some rest."

The tealette nodded, and patiently waited with her in the kitchen. With every passing second, with every moment that the stare bore into her back, Luka got more and more anxious. She got the girl a mug and spotted the powdered cacao.

"Would you like some hot chocolate, maybe?" she asked, voice shaking just somewhat.

"Chocolate?"

Luka turned to face her, slight surprise covering her features.

She'd never had chocolate?

Immediately she went to grab a bar of chocolate she'd purchased a few days prior, for it was one of the things she could actually stomach, then handed it to Miku. The girl looked at the wrapped bar with curiosity.

"What is it?"

"Sweets, a candy. There's dark chocolate, which is bitter, but similar to this. If you want, I can get some tomo— Later."

Miku slowly unwrapped the chocolate as Luka spoke, and took one cautious bite. The milk started boiling, demanding attention Luka was all too happy to give. She cautiously poured the milk into the mug, then turned around to hand it to the tealette, to find that Miku was smiling just somewhat, to her surprise.

"It's good."

"Oh. Good."

So, would she like to try hot chocolate? She stirred the drink a bit, making sure that no skin could form on the surface, while Miku simply took another bite straight from the bar. Luka decided to simply go for it, thinking that giving her something new and, hopefully, tasty, would be easier to grasp than the entire kidnapping-for-your-own-good ordeal. An understandable peace offering of sorts.

Miku accepted the drink with a dreamy sort of anticipation, as if she was not quite daring to believe that something remotely harmless could be happening right then. Luka put away the chocolate bar, going on to worry about sleeping arrangements. The girl followed her, sipping her drink, saying and asking nothing. She probably preferred the hot chocolate to the actual bar: it was far more bitter. Luka was reassured by this just somewhat but knew that all of their problems wouldn't be solved with a single hot drink one early morning.

She took the pillows from the couch and put them on the floor, along the wall, a few meters away, so that she was essentially between the couch and the door. The couch was then unfolded into a bed and promptly made with covers and pillows more adapted to sleeping. For herself she took a blanket she had lying around, deciding that it would do.

Miku was almost done with her drink and seemed to be absorbing all that was happening with reigned in curiosity.

"I'll sleep here," Luka gestured to the pillows on the floor. "You can take the bed."

"But you live here."

Luka hesitated. "Consider yourself a guest of sorts. Make yourself at home, you know?"

Of course, she didn't. Luka cursed mentally. Miku did sit on the bed, quietly finishing her drink. Luka took action to avoid the silence and grabbed a pair of pajamas from her closet, before realizing that Miku was already wearing hers. Well, wearing full pajamas would probably be more appropriate than a tank top if she had a guest, she figured. She left to get changed in the bathroom, and while she was there, she brushed her teeth thoroughly, though she could never quite get rid of the taste of blood and bile. She returned to the kitchen to find that the mug had been put in the kitchen, and Miku had tucked herself in.

One less thing to do. She knelt on the ground, coaxed the pillows into a stable configuration of sorts, pulled the blanket over herself, and tried to sleep as well.

* * *

She did not sleep. She could not. She could only listen as Miku breathed, deeply, evenly. At first the knowledge that she was alive fascinated her, a wondrous comfort, and at first, nothing short of a miracle. But quickly, and with a certain relief, she realized how exactly she'd managed to fail at killing the tealette: Miku had simply passed out from the lack of oxygen, but she hadn't suffocated. How many additional seconds had been necessary, for her to send Miku over the edge? Another ten seconds? Twenty? She shook her head. Miku was alive. She tried to let that simple comforting fact drag her to sleep, but the sound of her breathing was too familiar. She had spent too many nights sitting in her room as she slept. The echo of the emotions that filled her back then seeped in, no matter how hard she tried. The guilt returned, and only its reasons had changed. She's alive, but she's trapped all over again. A bird who had flown from one cage to the next. Nothing has changed, except that now they knew of each other. What kind of impact would that have? That triggered worry that mixed with the remorse into something bitter. Would she be able to make this 'rescue' work? Would they get along well enough for cooperation to take form? And how long would it all last? How long would they have to wait? Who would run out of patience first? The media? The parents? Luka's employer? Or Miku? Then some form of fear took over; what if she had made a mistake, what if she were to make one? What if she were to screw it up all over again?

Then it started raining. The dark skies let loose their rage, the wind howling and the rain furious against the earth. The pitter patter was maddening. Eight o'clock rolled by, so Luka stopped trying to find sleep and headed out. She double locked the door again, checked the windows from outside, just to make sure nobody could see anything from outside.

She watched the drops drip from her umbrella, their speed nervous, the noise uneasy. Everything around her was loud. The water on the pavement, against windshields, on metal roofs. Shy ticking to loud rapping, all around her. Simply standing in the rain washed her mind.

The emotions went away or lost their saturation. Her mind went grey. In the end, the storm outside contrasted violently with her state of mind. Out there, it was busy. Anxious. Uneasy. But inside, she felt empty. She had even forgotten how raw the inside of her cheeks felt, the burn of her wounds.

She figured she was digesting. That putting herself outside, away from Miku and her own home, allowed her to mentally step back as well. She thought thoughts that meant everything to her, but right then, they lost their value, had been hollowed of emotion.

_I tried to kill a girl. I went through with it 'til I was convinced it was done. Then I kidnapped her for her own good. Now I need to tell the people who wanted her dead, that she's gone. The people who know everyone I love._

Among others.

The task before her was daunting. What she had done was beyond words. Where she was could only be described as a no man's land. Away from her responsibilities in a physical sense, outside in the rain, but drowning in them in her reality. She wished she could desynchronize, unplug from herself, as even the hollow thoughts conveyed the impossibility of her situation. She couldn't ever be able to escape it all until someone, out there, drops dead. It could be her, just abandoning all attachment to the living world with a rope or a bottle of bleach. It could be Miku, but not by her hands. That would be tragically convenient for everyone. It could be her entire family and all of her friends, freeing her from having so much to lose. Or it could be her employer, freeing them all.

But all Luka could do was pretend that the tealette was dead, and try to convince the girl to play that role. Convince her that it's all she could do. There simply was no other way out.

She wondered how difficult it would be. How long it would last. How long it would take until their situation would appear in the headlines, how quickly the police would find them. She wondered if the rain would erase their footprints on the river bank. If Miku would trust her. If she hadn't left already. Did she lock the door?

Luka passed by a bank and saw the time; nine o'clock. Miku usually would still be asleep. But her situation wasn't usual. She could be awake. She could be long gone. An assassin could be on their way to kill everyone she loved right then.

She wondered how she would deal with the death of her loved ones. She wouldn't ever put it past Miku. Ever. Only herself. How dare I get myself involved with such people. How dare I try to fix it all.

But try she did. She looked at the shopping bag she held. Clothes, dark chocolate. A new pair of shoes, the most important object. They were similar to the ones she'd tossed into the river: teal and purple, with black details. They were the same size. She hoped they would fit. She hoped that her employer wasn't watching her right then, wondering why she was buying clothes and shoes in the wrong sizes. But what stopped them? What stopped them from knowing already? After all, she knew that they had access to security footage on the streets. That she wasn't the only person with a camera they had hired. Closed shutters, locked doors, pulled curtains, did they help at all? Simply stepping outside, was that enough to ruin everything?

Could people tell that she had tried to kill a person?

Normally, Luka would have gone out of her mind from paranoia from the thoughts alone.

But she was too busy just trying to process it all.

Shopping helped, maybe. It's fun. Distracting, really.

Approaching her building, she realized she couldn't be nervous or happy. She couldn't entertain the possibility that Miku really had fled. Whatever will be, will be, she figured. She'd keep surviving somehow. The world keeps spinning, no? It's spinning a bit fast, though, maybe.

The door was still locked when she tried to open it. The spare keys were in the drawer with the cutlery. Easy to find. Miku hadn't tried to leave, then. Maybe.

Luka opened the door, leaving her umbrella in the hall to dry, taking off her shoes and shedding her jacket. She didn't say anything, preferring to be noticed than making herself noticeable, should the tealette be awake. She looked at the kitchen, briefly, and noted that nothing had moved. Either the girl still slept, or she hadn't even tried to eat anything. Then she opened the door to the main room, and saw Miku on the couch, looking at her photo album.

Oh.

Luka probably should have noticed that the bed had been put away to make the couch, that the photo album did contain baby pictures, which should spur some form of embarrassment, but she could only notice one thing: Miku was still wearing her hoodie.

It was far too big for the girl: it hung from her shoulders. It was also much darker than anything the tealette usually wore. Her white, blue and pink hues here covered by a large black mass. Yet somehow, she was suddenly… Luka couldn't put her finger on it. Endearing, like a child wearing oversized clothes? Frail, like a chick under a parent's wing? Or maybe she was suddenly real. Real, because the doll was no longer in her dollhouse, dressed in her doll clothes, and was marked by this object of the outside world. Surrounded by it. A comic character who had stepped out of the page, who had crossed dimensions.

She snapped out of it quickly but found that the emotional filter had melted away. Once again, it all stole Luka's breath. The feeling that had seized her the previous night seized her a second time. Miku was a real girl. She was _alive_. It was like waking up all over again. Her new stakes pressed against her emotions, raw. She was afraid. She was nervous. She was paranoid. The reality of it all, of their situation, shook her apart.

She leaned against the kitchen counter, trying to prevent her mind from unraveling. Reminding herself that she hadn't killed, that there was still hope no matter how small, that it wasn't all bad, that she was doing her best. Meager comfort.

They're both alive, she told herself. As long as she can breathe, everything can still be fixed.

It'll just take a while. A little bit of effort.

Luka breathed deeply, calming herself slowly. Quietly. After all, Miku was just in the other room. Looking at her photo album. Can't blame the curiosity, she thought, the girl can roam around the home as much as she wants if that would make her feel a bit safer.

What would really help, though, would be telling her exactly who her 'rescuer' was. She needed to tell her everything. Miku deserved all the answers to all the questions she had to ask. She owed it to her. No more hiding, no more beating around the bush. One deep sigh later, Luka entered the main room. Miku looked up, putting the photos down.

"Good morning," she said, her voice stronger than before, but there remained a foggy feeling of caution.

Luka tried to answer in kind, hoping to sound at least somewhat friendly but feared that she lacked the strength to properly convey that.

"Sleep well?" asked the tealette.

"No, I didn't sleep. You?" Luka answered as she pulled up a chair and sat in front of the girl.

"It was strange. Sharing a room. Even if you weren't sleeping, I suppose."

Luka couldn't answer, but she tried. She tried for too long, however.

"Was it too uncomfortable? The pillows on the floor."

Luka, briefly confused, turned to see where she had tried to sleep. Right. Couch cushions, thin blanket. She'd had worse: a sleeping bag on concrete floor between two walls.

Why would the girl even be concerned about her?

"It was ok."

Luka shook her head. No more beating around the bush. She was going to tell Miku everything. Everything. But how could she do that, knowing that in order to keep Miku safe, she needed to make her feel safe where she was?

She inhaled deeply, avoiding Miku's confused gaze. "I’m going to tell you the whole story," she started, hating the stutter. "It might be difficult to wrap your head around it all, so just listen. Or if you want me to stop, then tell me. We'll take a break, if, euh, if you need it. And, I'll answer all of your questions, promise. But, when I'm done. Ok?"

The tealette considered the offer for a brief moment, before nodding. The album was put back on the table, closed and forgotten. She leaned back, but Luka stayed with her elbows on her knees, suddenly uneasy, self-conscious, and so, so scared.

"Two years ago, I posted an advertisement of sorts online. I like following people."

She briefly talked about her once-upon-a-time hobby. Why she liked it. What was fun. What she had learned. Explained that that was why she was there, right then. But even as she spoke about what once fascinated her, she could only feel a strong nausea.

Then she spoke of the first request. She didn't hide that it had been her father, who she had been following. Then there was the invitation, the easy first months on the job.

Explaining that she had been inside her home was a challenge. But she somehow managed, going through the points in some sort of order. She even brought out the tools she had used, like her trusted knife, to illustrate what exactly she had done and how she had proceeded. Mapping out the home, finding the hollow, discovering Miku's need for a midnight drink of hot milk. Then it was making a full schedule of everybody's lives, knowing what everybody did 24/7, admitting that she had quit her job to do so, admitting that she was being paid handsomely, showing the money as she told her story.

"I was your ghost."

The difficult part. _I was the one who followed you. Hurt you. Tortured you._ She explained the doubt, during Miku's birthday, during Christmas. She explained the stakes. But she didn't want pity. Just understanding. She tried to be unbiased, to tell the facts as they were. She said that she had abandoned the hollow mere hours before Miku had adopted it. That she was under the stairs she walked on. That missing each other by a hair was a daily thing.

"Then…"

The murder. The memories were blurry. But they both had them. Only the perspectives changed. Nausea assaulted Luka with a vengeance. The cuts and bruises stung still, the lining of her cheeks was bumpy, and she wanted to bite at the wounds.

"…you know the rest."

Miku looked at the various tools and safes resting on the table, eyeing the large bills they contained. She remained quiet for a bit of time, nodding every now and then, probably coming to mental conclusions, tiny epiphanies of sorts, 'Oh, that explains this and that'. But she didn't comment. She didn't show any emotion whatsoever. She remained silent on the couch, her form disappearing under the large hoodie.

Luka gulped, no longer on the point of snapping from the sheer tension. It was a surprising relief to get all of that off of her chest. To vent, no matter how unbiased she tried to be, just saying, sharing, what she had done.

"Can we have breakfast?"

Luka looked up in confusion. Breakfast? Right, it was almost half past ten. Neither of them had eaten. But was all she had to ask?

Luka nodded, standing up, still a bit shaken at Miku's seeming lack of curiosity.

"What would you like?" she asked.

"Do you have eggs?"

"Yeah, sure."

Luka headed to the kitchen, Miku followed, leaving everything on the table. The tealette liked her eggs scrambled, so Luka prepared those. There was some confusion when she proceeded differently.

"Don't you need milk?"

"I don't add milk," answered the pinkette, voice still shaking somewhat. "I'm sure there are many different ways to make scrambled eggs. This is how I do it."

And to her surprise, Miku let it slide, without adding anything to the conversation. Luka could only stir the eggs in an awkward silence as Miku watched her every move.

She figured that a girl who had lived alone all of her life would have been pretty stubborn about changing the way things happen. A single child, who had never met another person of her age, no practice for her social skills, who had been kidnapped, wouldn't such a person be less complacent? Less accepting? Less trusting? More concerned about what they had been through for over a year? More afraid of eating something prepared by your attempted-murderer?

Apparently, not. Miku ate what Luka served and even seemed to like it.

Maybe she was happy to finally explore other possibilities. To meet another person, stalker or not. Maybe she wanted so much to leave her room that even another cage is just fine to explore. Any new human is better than a reflection.

Or…

Maybe there was a reason she was isolated in the first place? Was she ill? Could she not socialize at all? Or was she a genius of sorts? Luka knew that Miku wasn't a miracle child when it came to math, at least: she'd seen her homework. But there could be something else?

Miku did thank her for the meal. Luka couldn't finish her own plate, simply throwing everything in the sink to wash later. Miku returned to the couch to continue admiring the photo album. Luka put away the safes, hiding the keys, not minding if Miku saw where they went.

She could only wonder what she could make for dinner. Most nights she would settle with next to nothing, but she wanted to make something new for Miku. If she couldn't bring the girl outside, then at least she could share other things, she figured. If she hadn't known about chocolate until recently, what else was there that she could teach her? Show her?

Oh right, chocolate.

Luka remembered the shopping bag she'd left in the kitchen. She quickly fetched it, handing it to Miku.

"What…?"

"I got you some clothes, and a toothbrush," answered Luka, realizing that she was actually nervous, wondering whether the tealette would like what she'd gotten her. Silly worries, really, since clothes were, right then, purely pragmatic, more a comfort issue than an aesthetic one. And she wasn't going to force Miku to wear her pajamas 24/7, nor was she going to impose her own fashion and her own sizes. The girl was allowed to have proper clothes. "There's some dark chocolate, too," she added, as if a mere afterthought.

Miku unpacked the bag, looking at what was in there. But she paused when she pulled out the shoes. Luka's nerves continued to run high, so when Miku failed to do anything for more than a handful of seconds, she couldn't stop herself from speaking.

"I could only guess for the clothes. Don't worry, I can return them if they don't end up fitting. As for the shoes, I caught a glimpse of the size yesterday. I hope they're comfortable, though."

Miku's only answer was to untie the laces. Then she paused again.

"Can I wear them inside?"

The question caught the pinkette off-guard.

"What?"

"Can I wear the shoes inside?"

"Of course."

A tiny smile appeared, and Luka could only watch in some form of trance as she put the shoes on. Never mind being explained who tortured her, who stalked her, she asked questions about the shoes. No concern about the past. She just wanted to wear her shoes. No answers from her attacker. All she wanted was to put on the shoes.

Miku's smile grew as she admired the new footwear.

"I wasn't allowed to wear the other ones. They had black soles. They would streak the floor," she explained, her voice tiny. Yet, there was something else there.

Luka could only nod.


	2. Blue

Luka could only think that it was ridiculous how easy it had been for her to get to know the area. Her previous 'exercises' with random people had trained her far too well for her present task: she could work in the dark; she could use a camera without being obvious; she could go back and forth to and from the house while avoiding all of the surveillance.

She replied to the letter, being sure to copy the address written in it before destroying it in its entirety. Then she'd receive a new order and a new bundle of five grand with it. Each time, her hands shook as she held the money, as she put it away. She was getting ridiculously rich with ridiculous ease. After all, her orders were quite straightforward, and simple, really. She had been scared back when the man had suggested that she'd actually have to get _inside_ the house: luckily he hadn't never actually demanded such a thing.

_What does the garden look like._

_What is in their trash._

_What time do they go to bed._

_Take a picture of whoever is in there._

There never was a question mark, Luka noted. Each order was fulfilled as best as she could. While getting a picture of the father was relatively easy, she never got a glimpse of the daughter or the mother. She later deduced, after observing the lights, that the mother was out all the time, and wrote that to replace the picture. But the daughter was always upstairs, only going downstairs for dinner. She couldn't get a picture then, not with the bright lights illuminating the garden.

Apparently, it was good enough, for the pay was slightly bigger with the next envelope, probably for the effort. After all, she had tried for an entire week.

The orders continued for quite a few months. Winter was difficult to go through, as she couldn't possibly work with snow. For a few weeks, her entire mission was cancelled, for her boss didn't ask anything impossible from her.

They were being quite reasonable, Luka figured. She thought that she was simply supplying information, and they were trying to figure out what to do with what she gave them. The task quickly felt harmless, she felt like a simple messenger. Every evening she would simply take a walk, snap a few pictures, and go home. If there wasn't snow, she'd de-thorn the roses and sit in the bushes for a while. If there was snow, she would stay home and watch a movie. Every now and then, she put a huge bill or two into her account, and with every new mission accomplished she'd add a few more to her stash.

Life was easy, until one day early spring, she received a wake-up call.

_We need more. Get inside there._

* * *

The pillows on the floor were definitely more comfortable than anything Luka had managed to arrange in the hollow wall. Even though they tended to slip away from under her, she didn't get any backaches. It was only her second night sleeping on the things, two full days since Miku had arrived, and no problems with the pillows, or anything, yet.

Despite that, it had been three nights during which she hadn't really slept at all. Maybe she'd drifted away once or twice, but she'd always wake up and see that ten minutes, at most, had passed. The nights were never-ending. It was the purest form of torture. She could only wait.

Wait for what? Sleep? If only. She waited for Miku's father to come home, say 'I'm home!' and wait for his daughter to run down the stairs, to greet him. But he'd wait and wait, or he would put his stuff away and realize that his little girl hasn't come down yet. He'd wonder 'Is she asleep?', he'd look at the time, eventually go upstairs. Maybe he'd go right away, and knock on the door. Maybe he'd wait some more. Then, when dinner would be ready, prepared for two people, made with love to make amends for being away for so long, then he'd really wonder. Why is my daughter staying upstairs? Is she mad at me? Maybe I should stay with her more often. I should travel less. I'll stay with her. He'll make up his mind, maybe even call a few people to make it so. But still, Miku wouldn't come downstairs. He'd go and see what was wrong. And find an empty room. An empty bed.

Luka could hear him calling out her name. It rang through her head. She could perfectly imagine how his panic would steadily rise. She could see his fingers shake as he tried to call his wife or the police. My daughter is gone. She's gone.

Gone.

She waited for the headlines. She waited for the police investigation. She also waited for an answer.

After Miku had put on her shoes, Luka had sat down and written a letter to her employers. It's done, she'd written. She's dead. She made sure to include the fact that her disappearance probably wouldn't be noticed right away since nobody would be around for the following days.

Maybe they're waiting for the confirmation. They're also waiting for the headlines.

Waiting…

Luka could only toss again, and turn once more. And again and again. But the images filled her head. She could imagine the police knocking on her door, she could hear it clear as day. _We're looking for a girl,_ they would say. _Your DNA is on the site. I'm afraid we need to take you into custody._

She wouldn't resist. Leave Miku at home, maybe. _I'll be back soon_. They'd sit her down on a chair in the middle of a dark room. _A big white screen covers the wall in front of her._ Marks of some sort covered the walls. _They look scary, Luka thinks._

_"The victim is a nineteen-year-old girl. Miku Hatsune. Does that name sound familiar to you?"_

_Of course, sir. It's all over the news._

_"You screwed up, Luka. You were too slow. You were all over the site," he shouts._

_Oh. I'm sorry._

_"You're sorry, huh?"_

_So loud, for a question._

_The officer is scary, she thinks. He's tall and mean and looks a lot like the man who sat across from her that one day. You'll chase them out, he'd told her. He's wearing a red tie. A man is standing behind her. She feels him brush against her when he breathes._

_"You were too slow. You couldn't chase them out."_

_I'm sorry._

_"You messed up!"_

_I'm sorry._

_"Look at what you have done!"_

_A picture fills the white screen. Miku, on the bed in her room, her throat crushed so much that it had burst apart. Her eyes are like moons. Huge, white, rock-dead. She's crying blood. She's spitting it out from her mouth, from her wounds. Luka shakes her head, looks away, looks down, at her hands._

_Her hands are drowned in red._

_I didn't do it._

_"You screwed up, Luka. You were too slow. Look at what you've done. You killed her."_

_I didn't do it. Miku's ok. I saved her, didn't I? She's ok. She's back at home. She's ok._

_But her hands glare back up at her, the blood pooled in her palms showing her reflection._

_Then, a smile separates the miniature pools, chalk-white teeth coming up from the blood in a wide grin, gums redder than death and gore._

_"Good work," it says._

Luka jumped up from her bed with a scream. She looked down at her hands. Red. Red! _Red_! It's running down her arms, staining her clothes. When she tries to shake it off, it only splatters the walls. It doesn't go. It won't go. She darted to the kitchen, turned on the kitchen sink, tried to wash it all off. It wouldn't go, it wouldn't go, it wouldn't go…!

I didn't do it.

More soap. Scratch harder. Rub harder.

I didn't do it…

She remembered how the pillow felt in her hands. How she'd bitten the inside of her cheeks 'til the skin could only hang in her mouth, 'til she only tasted blood.

But I didn't do it…

She remembered how Miku had clawed at her. Had kicked. Had tried. The scratches, the bruises, they still burned.

She remembered the look in her eyes after she'd finally gone limp.

But I didn't do it…!

Yet, she could still feel the hands pushing against her shoulders!

"Hey!"

Luka jumped back in fright, seeing that the hands on her shoulders were real, and Miku was right there, was pulling her from the sink.

Miku.

She's ok.

Luka could only collapse to her knees, hands against her face. They were wet. Water, soap. Nothing red.

Because Miku's ok.

She heard the noise go away. All of the noise went away. And suddenly, something rested on her shoulders. She looked up.

Her hoodie. Miku had put it over her shoulders. Then she was kneeling in front of her, towel in hand. She pulled Luka's hands towards her and started drying them.

Luka realized that she was out of breath. That her entire face was wet. Not just from her hands. Was she crying? Sobbing? Her vision was blurry.

She gasped for air, but could only swallow it in violent bursts.

A nightmare?

Suddenly her hands were let go, and she felt, rather than saw, the towel press against her face.

She could only notice how gentle Miku was being.

All she wanted to do was hide.

"It was just a dream," Miku whispered, the quiet tone so painfully welcome.

"I—" Luka tried to speak, but could only try to inhale. She looked down at her hands. They were blurry. Everything was. They were red, but not from blood: the skin was burning, rubbed raw. Some of the scratches had been pried open, decorated with tiny red pearls, nothing more."I—"

Miku moved on to her hair, gently easing the locks through the towel, drying them somewhat. Luka could only try to breathe, try to make sense of everything around her. All she could really acknowledge was that Miku was alright. Even the tears that continued to run down her cheeks went on undetected.

"Come on," Miku coaxed, encouraging the pinkette to stand up from the floor. Luka followed, feeling dumb, making too much effort just to catch her breath. They sat down on the bed. All of a sudden, Luka noticed that Miku was actually holding on to her hands. That alone anchored her almost immediately, but the images of her nightmare continued to float through her mind.

They sat without saying a word for a few minutes, the time it took for Luka to stop swallowing the air and start breathing normally.

When her breaths were only somewhat shaky, Luka realized that she must have looked insane. As she wiped her tears, she reflected on her actions. Such a violent reaction to a dream, how ridiculous. How dare she.

"You haven't slept at all lately, have you?" asked Miku, her voice still quiet. Luka imagined that any other voice would have startled her out of her thoughts, but hers somehow didn’t.

She only shook her head.

"You haven't eaten, either."

"Ah, you noticed." Her voice was raspy. Had she been screaming?

"Hmm."

The pinkette wiped at her tears again; the sleeve of her hoodie was drenched. What a mess. She was such a mess.

"Luka?"

When Miku didn't continue, the woman looked at her, feeling pathetic, and feeling afraid.

She was suddenly so afraid.

"That's your name, right?"

"…yes."

She hadn't ever introduced herself, she realized. She hadn't introduced herself. Two days.

How did she know?

What did it matter.

"I trust you, you know?"

"How?"

Miku didn't answer for a while.

"I suppose there are multiple clues. When I woke up a few days ago, you were gone. So, I thought I might look around. And I found the letter that told you to kill me."

Luka nodded; she hadn't destroyed that one.

"And I found those photos," Miku gestured to the photos that sat on Luka's desk. "You didn't take those, did you?"

"No." Luka managed to utter. "How did you know?"

"None of them are aware that a picture is being taken of them. And…" Miku briefly stood, and pulled out the photo album. "None of those pictures are in here."

Luka was briefly taken aback.

"And you look so happy in all of these pictures!" exclaimed Miku as she leafed through the pages. "Except these."

Luka was suddenly confronted with the pictures taken at her birthday. She looked away, self-loathing filling her once again to the brim.

"You look…" she hesitated. "…different in these."

Luka swallowed past the ever-growing lump in her throat. What did she really have to hide from her? What could she dare to hide? Nothing, not anymore. "Yeah. I hated myself."

"Hate yourself?"

"Yeah."

Miku said nothing for a few seconds, but finally whispered, "You still hate yourself, don't you?" Luka turned back to face her. "That's why you aren't eating. Why you can't sleep. Why you were crying, screaming that you didn't do it. That you didn't kill me."

"Yes."

Miku remained quiet, and Luka didn't want to add a single word.

"I don't trust you because you hate yourself," the tealette said suddenly. "You're dealing with people who know who you love. They know who they are, where they are. And they want me dead. I trust you because you're doing your best to save everyone."

She couldn't answer. Not when Miku put it like that.

"Thank you, Luka."

She could only continue crying.

* * *

Trust. The word floated around Luka's mind as she slowly woke up. Trust. Somehow, she'd gained trust. In two days.

She opened her eyes. They felt puffy. Her throat was parched. Right. The memories slowly came back to her, and she groaned. She couldn't believe that she'd let a nightmare seize her so strongly. Let it take control of her senses. It had felt so real. So painfully real. And truth be told, whenever she remembered even a passing moment of that night, it struck her. Each second remembered felt like a brutal punch to the gut. Whenever she accidentally recalled that evening and she happened to have something in her stomach, she inevitably ended up taking a trip to the bathroom. So she didn't think of it. Didn't remind herself that she'd tried to kill someone. Just think that she's safe now, she told herself. Focus on the good you managed to do.

Her dreams, apparently, weren't cooperative. Being submerged into the situation once again, how could she not panic? How could she possibly contain herself, retain her composure? And, frankly, how dare she not feel guilt for her actions?

It had felt so real. She supposed she deserved that. Who else is to blame for getting into the situation in the first place? Nobody.

Miku didn't deserve to see that, though. She didn't need to suffer any of the aftermath. She just needed to stay safe. No emotional charge, no. She shouldn't feel bad for her captor. Ever.

Luka rolled over and noticed that she was in her bed, sleeping by the edge. One glance to her side told her that Miku was beside her, facing the wall. She was still sleeping soundly, her breaths deep and even.

Luka sat up.

Ever since she'd explained exactly who she was and what she'd done, they had exchanged very few words. Luka had busied herself with making sure they didn't starve, cooking new things, shopping for necessities. Miku read the books from the bookcase. For breakfast and lunch, Luka asked the girl what she would like to eat, but for dinner, she tried to prepare something that the girl hadn't ever seen before, an exercise she had to admit was more fun than anticipated, especially given their global situation.

Besides that, there never really was a reason to talk. Luka was open to questions, Miku never asked any, and Luka already knew too much. The host showered in the morning, the guest in the evening. The pinkette walked around, the teal girl stayed on the couch, reading. Miku had become some sort of central piece, and Luka could only orbit her and worry about her safety.

But there was no talking. That made the previous night's conversation unexpected. Miku was surprisingly sharp. At least, the way she presented her observations painted such a portrait. Luka still had no idea how the girl truly felt about her situation, though. Maybe Miku was actually upset, impatient, anything, really. At least her complacency was explained. She trusted her.

She trusted her.

She stood up and made her way to the bathroom. She wanted to wash away the nightmare, and all of the fear and embarrassment it brought. When she entered the kitchen, however, she was greeted by the consequences of her outburst. The dish soap was knocked over, leaking onto the counter. The soap bar lay forgotten in the sink, the brush beside it.

A small mark, of course. She hadn't dented a wall or anything. But it was enough. She remembered how she'd tried to wash the imaginary blood from her hands. To make amends for something she'd managed to escape doing. The image in her dream came back to her, and she could recognize every detail. The nausea returned, and Luka almost spit up pure bile.

Quickly, she jumped into the shower. The soap no longer made the scratches on her wrist and face sting, but the bruises still hurt. As she wrung the water out of her hair, she wondered how many wounds she had exactly. Innocently, forgetting that she had avoided doing so for weeks, months? she stepped in front of the mirror.

A skeleton met her. She was almost scared of her own form, surprised at how she had neglected herself. Her collarbones stood out, almost like a large clothes hanger from which her entire body was suspended. Her shoulders, elbows, ribs, hips, and knees all stuck out from under the tarp that was her pale skin. And, decorating it all, were numerous scratches and dark bruises. Her right cheekbone was still blue from where Miku had punched in her desperate attempt to save her own life, and steadily healing scratches littered her neck, wrists, and cheeks. Except for those she had pried apart the previous night, they were no longer as red and angry, but she was surprised at how many there were. She twisted so that she could see her back and sides, and there she found bruises from where the tealette had kicked her, with knees and heels.

Luka desperately tried to focus on the wounds but couldn't keep herself from looking at her state. Bone thin. As she moved, she could see the muscles move right under her skin. It wasn't the wonderful rolling muscles of a flexing athlete who was in shape: it was the eerie way a body simply moved, revealed because nothing but skin covered it all. She lifted her arm and could see the division between all of the flexing muscles in the shoulder, her back, her neck. There was no handsome harmony of a functioning limb, it was the scary pulling and pushing of bones.

At first, she felt sick and disgusted. She had avoided her reflection for a long time: she knew that her meagre diet and scattered sleep, coupled with the need to fit in small spaces, to move quickly, to be hidden, had taken its toll on her. She should have avoided this, she thought. She should have taken care of herself.

But no. There was a reason she had become this way. And she wasn't about to change back to how she was before. She forced herself to come to terms with what she had become, to accept the fact that a healthy body harbored a healthy mind, and right then, she was paranoid and afraid. She hadn't had the time or energy to prevent this, and she wouldn't have time or energy to fix it. Miku was her only concern right then. As long as the tealette would stay hidden, all would be well. There was nothing worse to do, right then, than to worry about herself.

She got dressed and returned to the living room. She browsed the internet for a while, partly killing time, partly out of fear that somewhere, out there, there already was a clue to Miku's survival. She could never be too sure, could she?

"Hello."

Luka almost jumped. "Hi."

Miku sat up and stretched, before falling back into the bed. "Sleep well?" she asked.

"Actually, yes," Luka answered, surprised at her own answer. Timidly, unaccustomed to conversation, she continued, "Sorry for all that, by the way."

"Hmm."

Miku rolled over once again, burying her face into the pillow. It was early for her standards, Luka remembered with a small smile. The girl who usually woke up around noon had trouble with a ten o'clock start, especially if the lighting indicated a much earlier time: the drawn curtains made everything seem just a little bit darker, just a little muted.

Nevertheless, she asked what the tealette would like for breakfast. An objective would be a welcome distraction. The girl settled for some eggs on toast, which only gave Luka the idea to prepare some French toast instead. A wonderful mission she immediately focused on. Eggs, bread, cinnamon, syrup. The sleepy tealette was lured in by the smell of the first two pieces of toast.

"It's French toast," Luka said, almost presenting the food to the girl. "It's a different way to understand eggs with toast."

"Smells yummy."

Luka smiled a bit. She liked being able to surprise the girl with exciting new recipes. Show her what the world had to offer on a culinary scale. She served the two pieces of toast on a plate, turned off the hot plate, and handed the plate to the tealette. However, the girl didn't seem all too happy all of a sudden.

"What are you eating?" she asked.

"I'm not hungry," Luka responded. "Really."

But Miku wasn't having any of that. She took another plate straight from the cupboard and shoved one piece of toast onto it, before pushing the plate in Luka's direction, the gesture also an invitation for her to sit.

Luka only stared.

"I—"

"Eat."

She sat down, which wasn't anything new: she always sat with the tealette, even if she wasn't eating. But sitting to eat? She had no appetite. None at all.

"Show me how to I'm supposed to eat this," offered Miku, less an order and more an invitation.

"Well, usually you can eat it wi—"

"No, show me."

Luka sighed. She took the syrup and spread it over her toast. Miku then did the same. When the pinkette actually took a bite was when Miku smiled, though. They both ate, one with noticeably more gusto than the other, but Luka found some happiness in seeing the girl enjoy it so much. She'd eat some just for that, even if it made her sick. She simply hoped that the girl wouldn't notice. That she wouldn't learn that the food couldn't settle.

After the meal, Miku returned to the couch to read, and Luka did the dishes only after visiting the bathroom once more.

She really hoped that she wouldn't notice.

When she was done with her chores, Luka could only sit and worry. She wondered if she should continue browsing, scan the news sites, see if anything would come up already. But it was too soon; a couple more days. Still, she wondered.

"Luka?"

"Yes?"

Miku had put her book down, looking somewhat worried.

"How long am I going to stay here?" she asked, "What are you waiting for, really?"

Luka sighed.

"I'm not sure, to be honest."

"Aren't the people who want me dead happy now?"

"Well, they'd be happy if you were to stay dead. That's the hard part." Miku frowned and looked down at the coffee table. "I'm sorry. I don't really know what to do, either."

She couldn't phone the police: they'd find out. Miku couldn't go home: they'd find out. But she felt like Miku knew that already.

"So, we might be like this for a little while," said the tealette.

"Yeah."

"Maybe we can start over. And get along."

"Wh—? What do you mean?"

"Well." Miku fidgeted, apprehensive. "I'd prefer to stay with a roommate. Or a friend, really. Instead of with someone who was hired to kill me. I don't want to remember you like that, not with how much you're trying."

Luka was somewhat taken aback. Befriending Miku?

Immediately, she wanted to refuse. From the get-go, she knew that getting emotionally invested would only bring pain the long run, and she was right. Those emotions were what made the guilt absolutely ruin her. If they were to actually bond?

She couldn't let Miku in on any of that. She couldn't let her get close with a criminal because she had to face it: no matter how it all would end, if she lived, she would live in a cell for quite a while. Plus, there was the public: they would all declare Stockholm syndrome. Why wouldn't they?

Had Miku already developed the syndrome? The thought threw her off.

"I can't," she answered, managing to keep the snap out of her refusal. Her anger and fear manifested physically, though: she stood and turned away despite herself.

Luka didn't know enough of the stupid syndrome to properly analyze her own situation. It was the irrational development of sympathy towards one's captors, wasn't it? She knew that in their situation, it wasn't totally irrational, but only from where she was standing! After all, she did NOT want to hurt Miku! But how could the girl know for sure? How could she trust her so easily? Her entire spiel with the evidence, the speech explaining why she trusted her, it all seemed so hollow, now. Luka knew, as a fact, that she was only doing what she was doing in order to keep everybody safe. But nobody else could know that with unwavering certainty. No matter the letter, the photos, her kindness, her generosity, Luka did not warrant any trust whatsoever. Not to mention the fact that Miku hadn't ever truly socialized before! Oh dear, she was probably the only person the girl had really met over the course of her lifetime. The only person who was kind to her 'for no real reason'.

The entire idea of bonding was covered in disaster.

"Why not?"

Luka sighed, not sure how to formulate an answer. In the end, she didn't even try. But, she could look her in the eye as she answered.

"We can't. It's a terrible idea," she said, firm.

Miku glared at her. Luka half-expected the only-child-who-has-always-had-everything-her-way attitude to come up, but the tealette surprised her once again.

"We'll just start over. Introduce ourselves. Tell each other what our favorite colors are."

"We can't."

"Tell me why."

"I can't."

She couldn't tell her any of that. Sit down and explain that friendship is impossible in their situation. That friendship is impossible, once again, for the girl who had never been free.

"I like the blue of the sky."

Luka turned away again, palms to her temples. She couldn't. She couldn't let Miku give her any more of herself. Tell her everything she didn't already know. She couldn't give herself away. Show anything.

"I really liked the risotto you made yesterday. There was something in there…" Luka shook her head, but Miku pressed on "…that was really nice. I knew the peas, and bacon, but what was the other thing?"

"…"

"I liked it a lot. It's the best thing I'd ever tasted."

She'd already given too much, hadn't she. Just trying her best to show her more things, that had signed her death warrant, hadn't it? Showing she cared, it would be the end of her, wouldn't it?

"Well, it was yummy."

Luka wanted to walk away. Go out. Breathe some fresh air, and get out of the situation.

"I really like how my shoes squeak when I walk. I'd never heard that before."

"…"

"I'd never seen anybody else cry, before."

The words shattered Luka's heart. "Please," she gasped, "Please stop."

"Tell me why."

Luka couldn't answer. To her luck, Miku didn't continue.

"I— I'm going for a walk. Is that alright?" Luka asked.

"No."

Luka wanted to sink to her knees.

"Why do you ask for my permission?" asked the tealette. "If you don't want me to be friendly with you, then why do you keep your promises? You've kept them all: you bought me new shoes, you didn't hurt me, you explained everything, and you're keeping me safe. And you keep cooking new things. Things you haven't made before, I can tell! You keep leafing through your cookbooks, double-checking you're doing everything right. Why do you make so much effort to make me happy, if you don't want to be friends with me?"

"This isn't about making friends!"

"Of course not!" Miku sounded almost insulted. "But you sure are working hard for some stupid little girl you've stalked and tortured for a year to kill!"

"Wh—"

"And don't tell me that this is just about making sure I don't screw up your plans, either. The locked doors, the pulled curtains. You don't want me running away, I get that. If I show my face, then all of those people you know, your family, are dead. But you could make sure I don't run in different ways. You could chain me up, put me in a box, feed me processed paste or who knows what."

"B—"

"Look at this place; it's tiny. Just a day after closing the windows, it started smelling musty. The dimmed light doesn't help, either. When all of the doors are open, I can see everything you own in a single frame! So, even if you did keep me imprisoned, I wouldn't ever be able to really get out of your sight long enough to escape, so don't tell me the friendly shtick is just a long-term 100% guarantee containment plan, either!"

Miku stopped, awaiting an answer. Luka couldn't turn to face her, though. She feared what she might find. Miku had stood up in the middle of her tirade, and never had the pinkette been so intimidated by someone.

"Tell me!"

The demand only made Luka press her hands harder against her ears.

They stood in silence for another few moments. Neither moved.

Luka ran Miku's words through her mind. She was right. She was so so right. But, that didn't mean she could comply.

She turned around, slowly. Miku remained standing, the look in her eyes demanding an answer.

It suddenly struck Luka that she wasn't a 17-year-old girl anymore. This wasn't the teen she'd first seen slumbering all those months ago. This was a young woman only a year younger than the girl Luka used to be, back when she'd received her first job. She was clever. She was no child.

But that still didn't mean she could comply.

Luka gulped, sitting back down. She forced her hands to her sides but ended up squeezing them between her bony knees, making sure she wouldn't hide behind them again. Miku sat down as well.

Then they sat in silence. Each second made it heavier, made the words that Luka would inevitably speak mean just that much more.

"How can you be so sure I'm doing any of this for you?" she asked, shattering the silence with a trembling voice. "How can you know, without a shred of doubt in your mind, that I'm not doing this because, oh, I don't know, maybe it's redemption? Because of the guilt? The bitter, never-ending remorse? That I'm just doing all this, making you smile if just a bit, just to make myself feel better? That you're just a tool to use so that I can finally forgive myself?"

Miku stared at her with such strength that Luka was forced to look away.

"You can't know, for sure, that I'm not doing this for my own good. That I'm not an egotistical monster trying to win back my ticket to heaven. That I'm not trying to exploit you in other ways than usual."

"Are you?"

"I could lie."

"You haven't lied yet."

"I haven't broken any promises," Luka corrected, voice still shaking. "But I could still lie. I could have lied. About everything."

Miku seemed to relax at the statement and seemed perplexed. The anger went away, replaced by deep contemplation.

"The real issue is that ever since I first followed your dad home, I've been a criminal. And with every step I took, I became worse and worse. I mean, there's espionage, trespassing, conspiracy, not to mention attempted, well, which is it? Manslaughter or murder, Miku?" Luka paused, every passing word making her feel more and more ill. "When this ends, when you're safe, I'm going to jail. That's going to happen. And if you're my friend at that point, it won't look good, no matter who I am, no matter what I do."

Miku continued to think, very focused. Luka recognized the crease between her brows. She looked away again.

"So, you suggest that we continue to co-exist like this?" asked the tealette. "You make sure we have stuff to eat, I sit here and read, we sleep, and repeat? Every now and then, you'll buy something, every now and then I'll walk around in my squeaky sneakers, and if we're lucky, we'll exchange a few words?"

Luka nodded.

"What will happen when I run out of books? You will get me more? You will continue to cater to my every need so that I don't go insane and jump out the window?"

She nodded again. Miku sighed.

"I understand that this situation is delicate, Luka. Over the past few days, I've been having trouble coping with all of this. The new surroundings can only begin the list of things I've needed to think about. I just wish that simply seeing someone other than my dad or my mom, albeit strange, was a significant part of my thoughts. I've had to deal with the thought that you tried to kill me because someone asked and paid you to, and now I'm in your home, and somehow, I owe you my life. On top of that, I know that I know nothing, may it be about this general situation, or how the outside world really is like. I am forced to trust your judgment. You are all I have. And the contrary is also true, I suppose. Your friends and family can't ever learn I'm here, so I'm guessing you won't be inviting them over anytime soon. And since my parents, and literally everyone in the world, are to believe that I'm dead, well, we are literally all we have. This," —she gestured at the two of them— "is small company to settle with, and it's formed of the worst of duos I can imagine. One of us is a criminal, as you put it, and the other is someone who has never made a real friend. Your every action will be perceived and judged as filled with ill intent. My every action will be seen as compensation for my past loneliness. Unfortunately, there's no way out of this. Neither of us can decide to suddenly be anyone else. This is something we both have to deal with, that involves just us two. This is our game, and the rest of the world will eventually be our referees. But I want to let them judge. Let them cry Stockholm, redemption, exploitation. They will not understand what's it's like to sit here like this. And frankly, this pseudo-solitude we have been practicing, it's unbearable. I want to be able to talk to you, and I want you to be able to talk to me. This isn't about making friends, Luka. This is about making the best we possibly can."

Both remained quiet for a long time. Finally, Luka inhaled deeply, then spoke one word, so quietly, that Miku didn't catch it.

"Pardon?"

"Leek. The risotto that you liked. It had leek," Luka said in a single shaky breath.

"Oh."

"And I like blue, too."

Miku smiled.


	3. Settling

The news of the hollow had been welcome. The reports of the family's habits even more so. Despite the quantity of information she had to hand in on the daily, Luka couldn't help but wait a day or two and gather as much detail as possible into a single letter. The consequence of that was that she would get less pay: one letter, one payload. The work remained easy and had even gotten easier, especially when the new envelopes only contained cash, with no new orders. She continued her espionage, sending a letter twice a week at most. Maybe it was a conscience issue, or a fair pay for fair work issue, or a practical issue, as the room in her safes was running out. What it may have been, Luka's wealth only grew and her routine, while taxing sleep-wise, remained feasible.

The next order she received surprised her somewhat.

_Scare them out. You decide how._

Getting into the house had been a scary task on its own, and remained so despite the hollow. But scaring them away, being proactive? Wasn't she gathering info for them, so that they could scare them away? Luka had come to think that she was simply a messenger in the whole deal and that the 'You will chase them' simply implied that she'd be a tool to meet that end. But to be the chaser?

Luka immediately quit her job, and the news of that was most appreciated.

_Thank you for your dedication._

_You have received a permanent raise._

7.5 grand awaited her in each following letter, and the orders disappeared once again. The rise in income almost became problematic: without a job, she could no longer deposit anything into her account without it looking suspicious, not to mention explaining it for taxes. An extra safe was purchased, along with another book. What was the harm in having two copies of the same dictionary, she thought, if her book collection never stopped growing? She had to spend time somehow in that hollow.

As for scaring them out?

She supposed that there was a number of ways to do that. A childish plan was to go 'oooh' like a ghost while they ate, but immediately, she realized that there was a fundamental flaw in that plan: the father would have none of it. He would call the police and go to any length to find out who was making those noises. He might even raze the building, she imagined.

No, she couldn't ever give the father the slightest idea that there was someone in the house. Never. Miku would be her angle of approach.

So, ghost sounds when the girl was alone?

She didn't think that it would be very terrifying, as she suspected that she wouldn't be very convincing in the first place. No, she would need to be a bit subtler; knocks on the wall; opening faucets; small hints. Let her imagine the rest.

Yes, that would work.

* * *

Luka stood in the kitchen, quietly breathing on her own, quietly taking a few minutes just for herself. Just a few more minutes before she returns to her haphazard pillows-on-the-floor bed.

After Miku's lengthy argument the previous day, she could only concede. She was right, after all. What else could be said after that? What counter-argument existed that would properly justify their 'pseudo-solitude' after all they'd been through? Didn't they have the right to make the best of their situation? Even if the world could only see that the pinkette had the worst intentions and was simply manipulating her hostage, that right still stood.

It wouldn't ever look good in court, ever. But they both agreed that they would care about that when the time came, when they would have the freedom to care about it at all. After all, how many years would that add to a prison sentence that included attempted murder? Nothing, in comparison. Plus, a prison cell would help Luka deal with the world's judgmental nature. All in all, in their now, it was worth it.

In any case, Miku hadn't wasted any time in trying to get to know her better. Luka answered with one or two words, doing her best to try to be positive and truly start over, at least in the mental frame. But how could she, when she already knew so much about her? Miku asked of colors, foods, animals, books. But Luka knew her habits, her music playlist, her bookcase. Almost adding insult to injury, Miku refused to ask anything about what her stalker used to do behind those walls. It was odd: Luka knew that the story she had told wasn't flawless or complete. Was the younger woman simply trying to pretend that none of that had happened, in order to properly go along the 'start over' plan? Probably, but the pinkette felt that she desperately needed a closure of some sort, a dialogue. A simple rant wasn't enough. She wanted feedback, she wanted to know exactly how much damage she had dealt. She wasn't getting any of that.

Though, she supposed that the start over plan had a few benefits. In the mere hours following, they had gotten much more relaxed. Luka didn't spend as many empty minutes worrying, being paranoid, because Miku managed to start a conversation every time she felt like she was going to check the doors _again_. It was a welcome distraction. Also, Miku had gotten more invested in their shared household. She helped with sweeping the floor or watering the one cactus that had survived. That evening, she had even helped her cook. The pinkette had known that Miku was very skilled at the art, but was still surprised she had wanted to help in the first place. Regardless, playing around with ingredients and working together towards one totally insignificant goal was fun. It was. For what it's worth.

That didn't stop Luka from taking every lonely moment she had to think about everything that demanded her attention. There were the immediate needs; dishwashing, laundry, food. Then there was worrying about everything else, namely things that had already happened, or were just waiting to happen. She wondered if she really had left the Hatsune residence without leaving a single trace. She wondered when the headlines would bear Miku's name. Because, in the end, it was only a matter of time— Speak of the devil… Luka looked up, wondering if she had really heard anything. Sure enough, a second later, the sound came again, only somewhat louder.

Crying?

Immediately, Luka rushed out of the kitchen, into the main room. Miku was in bed, as expected, but rolled up into a tight ball, whimpering. The pinkette quickly knelt by her but stopped there. Was she asleep? A nightmare? Did everything finally catch up to her?

Screw the questions, the reasons, Luka needed to act but hadn't the faintest idea how. For a handful of seconds, she panicked in front of Miku's trembling form. Wake her up, of course. How, how? The last time she'd touched her, she was pushing a pillow against her face. Trying to kill her. That simple thought was enough to throw her off completely.

Miku rolled over to face her, her eyes shut tight, her arms wrapped around herself, desperately hugging at nothing.

Of course. Back home, she used to hold a pillow.

She had clung on to it for dear life.

Luka pushed past her thoughts and memories to simply put a hand on the young woman's shoulder.

"Wake up," she urged with a gentle shake, to no effect. She tried again, "Miku, wake up, please."

The tealette's eyes burst open all of a sudden. They honed in on Luka, filled with a pure fear that was always followed by large tears. And then, from one single second to the next, the fear was replaced with crystal clear recognition.

Luka could only pull the stray locks of hair from Miku's eyes with shaking hands, feeling like a deer in the headlights.

"You're alright, Miku," she whispered, voice also failing. "You're safe, I promise."

The tealette's eyes closed, pushing away large streams of tears. The arms that once were wrapped around her form suddenly emerged from the blanket and found a place around Luka's shoulders.

The embrace startled Luka into getting up from her kneeling position on the floor so that Miku wouldn't hang from the edge of the bed. She sat beside her, and Miku leaned against her bodily, almost pushing herself into her, her entire frame shaking. Luka felt the grasp around her neck and shoulders tighten, she felt how Miku's face pressed into the crook of her neck and felt both completely lost and incredibly self-conscious. She could only put her hands on the crying girl's back, maybe timidly return the embrace with some luck, hoping that she was conveying a message of safety above anything else.

The situation was too irregular. She had had no practice. The details of their relationship were too complex and too far from intimate. What could she do?

Miku sobbed, her tears hot on Luka's skin. She remembered the way the tealette had somehow managed to comfort her mere days prior, but everything was different. Back then she had pulled away, but Miku had pulled her in. She could not wipe away tears. She could only be held.

She could speak to her. At least try to.

"It was just a dream," she whispered, trying to be confident, quiet, comforting. "It was all just a dream."

She repeated the words, almost like a mantra. As she spoke, Luka's arms returned the hug proper, hoping to anchor Miku in the present, their reality. The words then transformed into a gentle shush, the tempo changing as Miku calmed down. Timidly, she reached up with one hand to hold on to one of Miku's. As the minutes ticked by, the pinkette even forgot to be embarrassed by her own bony frame.

Miku's sobs slowly got less violent, less emotionally charged. They were replaced by troubled cries, and Luka could almost feel how she tried to keep her breathing in check. As the cries were, in turn, replaced by mere sniffles, Luka started humming. A tune whose words she had forgotten, from a song that had once comforted her.

Miku's sniffles slowed to crawl. Luka continued to hum, but lazily. It was a borderline automatic action as fatigue muffled her senses, gently pulling her from consciousness.

Her eyes drooped shut, Miku quieted down.

Finally, the room went silent.

All that remained was a quietly fading song.

Luka fell asleep right when she realized that Miku was already dreaming.

* * *

The following morning found Luka surprisingly well rested. She stretched, basking in the feeling: two solid nights' sleep in a row felt almost surreal. But as Luka slowly but surely woke up, reality came to her, too. She remembered the previous night, and how Miku had held her.

Briefly, she recalled the night that the tealette had told her that she trusted her captor, and once again, Luka could only wonder why. How did Miku find so much trust, and apparently, comfort, in a relative stranger? Of course, there was the evidence that Luka had been backed into a wall, and there was the fact that they had agreed to 'get along', she supposed.

Both had agreed to forgo the long-term solution, so Luka forced herself to forget the questions that went along the line of 'Why does Miku invest so much into this friendship?'. Their present was infinitely more precious than whatever could come because their lives were at stake: they couldn't hold out for a day that they might never see. Maybe they hadn't worded it that way, or maybe Miku was thinking more along the lines of imprisonment (literal in Luka's case), but it was so.

Luka sighed. She knew that in the long run, should they survive, the tradeoff for the more peaceful days would be bitter memories. If she and Miku were to become fast friends, then she would only be able to remember it all from behind bars. And the same would probably go for the tealette. For better or for worse, that was the deal.

Luka rolled onto her side, only to see the tealette, once again with her back turned towards her. Except for this time, Luka was with her back against the wall. Before she could start worrying about getting up without disturbing the tealette, Miku started waking up as well. The younger woman stretched, seemingly oblivious to Luka's presence. Once again, the pinkette felt awkward. Should she announce herself? How? And once again, Miku was a step ahead and rolled on her back, looked to the side, and saw her captor lying beside her.

Luka was very quickly acutely aware of how close they were, and self-consciousness returned. Her couch/bed wasn't exactly narrow, but Miku wasn't lying close to the edge, either. She shrank back till her back touched the wall, but the tealette was still busy blinking the sleep from her eyes.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Euh, I just woke up, too," Luka mumbled.

Miku stretched again, before rolling over and standing up. Luka followed immediately, hoping to create some distance.

Luka quickly gathered a few things for breakfast while Miku busied herself with making the bed. She wondered when she got so self-conscious about sharing a bed. As teens, she and Lily would share without a problem during sleepovers. They would tell stories while hiding under the blankets, whisper in each other's ear. That was normal when you're close friends. And while she and Miku weren't that close, the strength of her reaction surprised her. On one hand, she argued that they were close enough for conversation, and for emergency nightmare-comfort, but not for much else. On the other, Luka had to admit that the last time she'd been physically close to anyone was months prior. Ever since Lily had visited, months ago. Years?

Luka shook her head and cracked a couple of eggs into the pan. Miku walked into the kitchen, checked the front door, and walked back to the living room to get changed. The pinkette sighed, suppressing the urge to check the door for herself. And to check all of the windows, the curtains…

She bit her cheeks, focusing on the eggs. She didn't want to remember the danger, but it returned to her mind like waves on the coast. Unstoppable, leaving only to return, sooner or later. The months of solitude were running around in her head. She remembered every single individual day. She remembered everything.

She felt sick again.

Miku returned, all dressed, and Luka served her the eggs. Both sat down, but Luka had no intention of eating. The tealette noticed.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

Luka held back a sigh. It made sense for the tealette to ask: the pinkette had eaten the previous evening, and only because she felt well enough. But right then, nothing would settle, not with her current mindset.

She replied with only the shake of her head. Maybe it was the fact that Luka didn't speak, but to her surprise, Miku didn't complain. She probably knew that it would be in vain, Luka thought. Maybe she knew that it wouldn't stay. Briefly, she felt profoundly embarrassed. But Miku didn't say anything either, and simply started eating.

When Miku was done, Luka did the dishes. The tealette complimented the meal, but all Luka could taste was blood.

When the chores were done and Luka had showered and dressed, but before she could start busying herself in her paranoia, Miku invited her to sit down. It wasn't too surprising: Luka figured she wanted to talk some more, to share. Secretly, the pinkette hoped that she wanted to discuss the time when Luka was hidden behind the walls but knew not to get her hopes up.

Miku sat on the couch, and Luka took a seat in front of her. The tealette, however, didn't start the conversation right away, and the pinkette could see that she was struggling to put her thoughts, or questions, into words. Just when she figured that she should start feeling concerned about what Miku wanted to discuss, the younger woman asked, "why aren't you eating?"

The pinkette couldn't help herself and shied away, caught off guard. She wanted to stand and leave the conversation right that second. It felt like a trick question because, hey, it wasn't that difficult to figure out. But she couldn't leave her there without an answer, could she? Obviously, Miku had cared enough about the topic, considering how long she had pondered her words. Did Luka care enough to answer, though? Did she want to?

She did, she had to admit. Perhaps it was more for Miku's sake than her own. The younger woman was depending on someone who couldn't take care of herself, and Luka figured that anybody in her position deserved to be worried.

"Almost nothing sticks," she mumbled, hesitating at the last word. "It's not about eating. It's about…" she trailed off, uncertain about how to word the end of the sentence. But Miku seemed to understand.

"How come? Are you sick?"

Luka had to tell herself that it was a reasonable question, in order to stop herself from scoffing. She couldn't forget the fact that Miku had never seen anything outside of the safety of her home, no matter what they were talking about. Even the most basic of conversation would surely betray her general inexperience in life.

"I'm not physically. But when I think about it all…"

"Oh."

"You don't feel unwell when you remember?"

Miku hesitated before answering, "I feel scared, sometimes. But it's in the past, and I don't really need to be afraid anymore. That's why I wanted to be able to talk to you: so that I wouldn't remember you as the one who tried to kill me."

A straightforward answer, but Luka couldn't help but wonder if she was hiding something. Nonetheless, she didn't question her further.

"What is it you think about, exactly?" asked the tealette, and once again Luka wanted to leave. Did she have to spell it out for her? She didn't want to answer, she refused to. After she remained quiet for a few moments, Miku pressed on, "I'm just trying to help. But I can't read your mind, Luka. There's a certain extent to which I can imagine what's going on in your head. Without communication, I can only keep guessing, and frankly, I'm afraid this will only get worse. Please, talk to me."

Her words struck a nerve, and Luka couldn't help but growl out her response. "You say that I'm not communicating, but I could say the same about you."

"What do you mean?"

"All you ever want to talk about are my favorite nothings. And, don't get me wrong! I appreciate the conversation; I can't put into words how much I do. But, Miku, all I really want to talk about, all I want to you ask is about when I was spying on you," her sentence trailed off, but timidly she continued. "I mean, well, I need— What were you thinking when I would knock on your wall? Were you afraid? Were you… Oh, I don't know. I need to know, Miku. How much did I hurt you?"

As she asked the question, she had looked up and met Miku's eyes, only to regret it immediately. The younger woman returned the gaze, unwavering.

"I don't want to talk about it," she replied eventually, breaking the eye contact as she spoke.

"I know you wanted to start over," Luka sputtered. "And pretend all that hadn't happened so that we could get along, but—"

"It had nothing to do with pretending it didn't happen," the tealette interrupted.

Luka stared at her, at a loss.

"Then why?"

It was Miku's turn to avoid eye contact. She sighed, visibly debated with herself, an internal argument to settle whether she needed to explain or not.

"I didn't want to bring any of that up because it's obvious to anybody who can feel the atmosphere in a room that you're killing yourself with guilt."

Luka couldn't find a reply, so Miku continued.

"From the moment I saw you literally slumped over the toilet, I knew that you weren't really the person who had tried to kill me. Of course, I tried to hit you, I yelled at you, but frankly, anybody would have done the same. And, I probably hadn't realized it at that point, but that's not what we're talking about right now. But I definitely realized when you handed me my shoes. With every single little promise you fulfilled, with every single meal you prepared for me and skipped for yourself, every time you check those stupid doors and curtains, the guilt is so strong I can taste it, Luka. That's what's making you sick, isn't it? Literally. The last thing you need is for me to tell you exactly what you made me feel."

Luka shook her head in protest.

"No! Please, tell me!" she pleaded. "I—"

"You said you sat by me and cried sometimes, right? So that you would feel the guilt you deserved to, right? Is this just like that? You just want to know so that you can destroy yourself again and again with remorse? To punish yourself for what you did to me? To punish yourself for me?"

Luka was speechless, but couldn't shake her head no. Miku sighed, then looked at her, sad.

"Please. If I were to tell you exactly what went through my head sometimes… I can't imagine what it would do to you. And I'm trying to help right now, you know. Help you get better."

"But—"

"Luka, please." Miku paused. "You are being self-damaging in your selflessness. You really are," she said, slowly. "You feel guilty. I get that. You want to fix the situation, which is also completely understandable. You're doing your absolute best. You're trying to save your family and me. The consequence is that you've totally forgotten about yourself, settling merely for survival. You're eating a bare minimum just so that you don't die because that would drive me to do my own shopping, and then I would drop dead the moment I step outside. And here you are, sitting here all day, keeping a tight grip on thousands of reigns, and you think about everything again and again and you let yourself drown in a guilt you're not even supposed to be feeling anymore. You make small talk with the little girl you tried to kill against your will. For her. You survive. For her. And then you feel guilty. For what you did to her. You try to make her happy, and you know it's not some foolish attempt at redemption. You just want to try your best. All the time. In every way. But not for yourself."

Miku halted for a few seconds, letting the information sink in.

"I am not going to let myself be the instrument you use to slowly but surely kill yourself. I won't be your source of suffering. So please, Luka, please don't care. Please be selfish. Just this once."

The older woman considered the words for a very long time, then nodded.

"Alright." she conceded. "I won't ask again."

"Thank you."

With those words spoken, Miku seemed to relax entirely. Luka couldn't help but feel somewhat lost. Of course, she couldn't simply force herself to not care from one moment to the next, and of course, she'd always wonder, but she supposed that she could try to let it go. Or wait until Miku felt like sharing on her own initiative.

"You know, for someone who thinks communication is so important, you're pretty good at figuring out what's going on in my mind," she mumbled with a smile. Miku smiled lightly, seeming sincerely amused despite her sudden fatigue.

"By the way, thank you for helping me yesterday," the tealette muttered quickly.

Briefly taken aback by the non-sequitur, Luka remembered the previous night.

"You're welcome," she replied. Then, after a brief pause, she asked: "Do you want to talk about it?"

After considering it for a moment, Miku mumbled sleepily, "It was just a dream about, well, I dreamt that it wasn't you who tried to kill me. Someone who didn't have a face. Who didn't have a reason to stop."

The words hung in the air.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Don't be. It's good to talk about nightmares."

"Then, what did you dream of?"

Luka hesitated. "I dreamt that I succeeded."

Miku considered the words for a few long seconds. "What can I do to help?" she asked, eventually. "With everything."

"Don't worry about me too much. It's not like you can prevent me from remembering anything at any possible moment. Or in my sleep."

"But conversation helps, right?"

Luka nodded.

"Maybe you have a hobby, something that you like to do?"

The pinkette smiled. The cute and childish part of the tealette surprised her after such debates. "Well, I used to sing every now and then."

"Oh?"

Luka nodded again, somewhat timid. "It's been a while sing I actually sang, though. This," —she vaguely waved her hand between them— "kind of put a stop to that."

"Well, you did hum something, yesterday."

"Yeah, a song my mom used to sing me, I think."

"It was nice," mumbled the tealette, almost too quiet to understand. Suddenly, she perked up, asking, "could you teach me?"

Luka stuttered, "Wh— Teach you?"

"Hmhmm. To sing." Then Miku calmed down, confessing quietly, "The only songs we would sing is 'Happy Birthday'."

Luka wanted to point out that the younger woman did sometimes sing on her own, but didn't want to remind her that she only knew that because she had been listening through the wall. Despite that, the sentiment, a sad one, remained. She couldn't imagine what it could be like, to have nobody singing for a child. After a nightmare for comfort, or a nursery rhyme, nothing?

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

After all, with the debates Luka had lost, she had run out of literally any argument against it. And, she had to admit, she looked forward to singing again. Maybe she could indulge in it, and enjoy something for once. Plus, she supposed it would be fun to teach Miku, even if the tealette seemed to have a firm grasp on it already.

Miku smiled in return to Luka's reply. "I'm glad we're actually going to do something together. The talking only works so well, I suppose. It's about time we found something that could actually get us out of here."

"I know what you mean," Luka said.

"And I don't want that to be all, Luka. The singing and talking, I mean. Between the two of us, we have enough issues for a thousand people. I've dealt with my confinement for my whole life, and this new situation is hardly better, but it's manageable. To an extent, I mean. You, on the other hand…" she trailed off. "You've got your guilt. Your ticks. And I'm absolutely sure they're all there for a reason. But I'd like to help you get over them."

Luka sighed. She'd almost forgotten that the entire conversation started because Miku wanted to help. She replied, "Miku, I can go so far as to sing. It'll help, really. I don't need you to treat me."

"And you don't need to spoil me," Miku shot back, but with a smile. "I'm saying we'll go through this together. No small chit-chat. No wasting time. I want us both to walk away from this stronger than ever before because nobody else is going to do anything. After this whole story is over, I'll be the poor victim and you'll be the ruthless criminal. For the rest of our lives, Luka. If we let our demons follow us to that point, we'll die with them. So, if you let me take a shot at your demons, well, I'll let you try to kill mine."

The meaning of the words gently sunk in. Luka could only nod. "Alright."

Miku cheered, and Luka retrieved her computer. "How do you suggest we start?" she asked as she browsed through her music library.

"How about your favorite song?" answered the excited tealette.

Luka nodded, but just before she clicked 'play', she looked up.

"I have to give you credit," she said with a grin, "For someone who spent most of their life alone, you sure know how to win an argument."

Miku laughed, and joked, "I suppose all of those made-up debates were good practice!"

Soon enough, both were listening to the song. Miku got to see the lyrics on Luka's phone and mouthed along. Luka told her of the importance of intonation, rhythm, how harmonies worked. When the time came for a demonstration, her nerves returned. Before she could nervously bite at her cheeks, Miku pinched her, then offered that Luka start the song, go to the end of the first chorus, and then she'd pick it up from there.

The first few tries didn't ever reach the end of the song and were interspersed with nervous giggles. Finally, they completed the song, and Luka would give feedback. Miku would ask questions, and then they'd sing again. And again. And again.

The day flew by.

Luka went to prepare dinner, her mood vastly improved. Miku was left with Luka's phone and headphones so that she may listen to the rest of her music library. All in all, it was a good day, Luka decided. Maybe her pride was just a little bit hurt that she couldn't seem to win an argument against the girl. But at the end of it all, maybe, just maybe, she was feeling better. And not just a bit better, legitimately better. It wasn't like before, when being out of a conversation for only a minute would send her back into her thoughts. No, she could keep her head on her shoulders, finally. She didn't know what exactly it was. Maybe it was the common ground she'd finally managed to find with the younger woman, maybe it was the return to her hobby, or maybe it was just the happiness she got from looking at her nod her head to the beat of her most beloved songs. The guilt wasn't as bitter, and the memories didn't feel so strong. The taste of blood had faded away, and she felt as close to happy as she felt in months. She held on to that, the good things. She didn't kill Miku. She's doing her best. It's difficult, but they'll manage. She repeated those things and similar thoughts to herself as she let the vegetables cook. Cooking remained a good distraction. Smell the smells, admire the colors, listen to the hissing. It anchored her. So many things were finally anchoring her.

And, suddenly she realized, maybe she wasn't just cooking in order to show Miku the culinary world. Maybe she could do it for herself, too.

Miku wandered in, listening to music, but no longer looking at the phone. They chatted about the meal, ratatouille. Where it came from, mostly: France. Neither had been there, but both had seen the movies. Miku asked if those sappy romances were anything like the real thing. Luka laughed as she explained that movies, usually, were at least a little over-the-top. Especially romances. But she did her best to change the subject; it was one that she felt might be at least a little painful for the tealette, no matter how curious she might be. So she set the table for two, and while she served herself less than half a portion, Miku let it slide, happy that she was at least trying.

It was only that night, when Luka was finally falling asleep, that she realized that Miku's laugh was just as beautiful as she had imagined it to be.


	4. Watching, Waiting

_This is taking a while._

Luka quickly penned a reply. They already knew how she had decided to proceed, but boy, none of them had anticipated Miku's stubbornness. The woman sighed as she wrote, realizing how tired she felt. How long would it go on? The easy habit had far too quickly evolved into a harrowing task.

That didn't stop her from trying again and again, though. But she started having her doubts. Even as the money poured in, it lost its value. The reward seemed duller and duller still, and the job more and more herculean. She even considered quitting, at one point. After all, it was already mid-summer. If Miku continued to be so persistent, then she had no idea how much longer it would last. Till fall, winter? Would it go on for a full year? No, she couldn't imagine it.

At least, not until the next letter came in. It felt particularly fat and heavy, making Luka wonder how much money was stuffed inside. It went so far as to warrant an extra stamp, which was absurd.

But there was no money in there. Countless photos of her parents. Photos of Lily, and of her parents. Then photos of her own cousins, aunts, uncles. A horrifying reminder of the first stakes laid out before her. A horrifying realization that they knew everybody in her family. They knew where they lived, what they did.

Luka remembered the leash that was tied around her neck.

She could do this, she immediately thought. If everybody she knew was at risk, then Miku was worth nothing in comparison. She would continue as long as it would take. She would do whatever needed to be done. She would succeed.

She made sure to let them know that immediately. She worked ruthlessly, day in, day out. But that didn't mean that sometimes, it didn't get a little difficult. When she watched Miku celebrate her birthday, sit with her mother, and be happy for once, she swore that she could almost feel that leash. As time went on and on, it withered, both losing its significance, and chafing her. Her doubt started to grow along with her guilt. Christmas rolled by, money continued to roll in, and the leash started to become suffocating. When Miku got scared and threw the entire home upside down, when she became nomadic when Luka watched her have nightmare after nightmare, quietly loathing herself. The book which contained all of her original notes, she burned it, hating the knowledge she possessed. In her letters, she realized that she had started to omit details. They never learned that her mother came to visit for Christmas. They never learned that Miku hardly browsed the internet, that she loved books, that she preferred bitter over sweet.

That didn't help much, though. Sometimes, she wished that the leash was real so that she could hang herself from it.

* * *

Luka was suddenly sleepless again. She lay on her pillows in vain, tossing and turning. It was silly, really. The past few days had gone so, so well: she and Miku got along wonderfully, singing for hours on end, cheering in triumph and their success, and laughing at their mistakes. It was all so wonderful. She wouldn't be surprised if she wasn't the only one who sometimes forgot the fact that they were in legitimate danger. Of course, they never let their guard down; the drawn curtains and the dimmed light served as an everlasting reminder. But they could make sure a door was locked as they locked it, instead of checking again mere minutes later.

That didn't mean that all was ideal quite yet. Luka still compulsively bit at her cheeks, and most of the time she didn't even realize it. It would only be when Miku pinched her when she would notice that she was doing it again. And two days weren't enough to cure her of her tiny diet, despite the better mood and Miku's best efforts. Finally, Luka's paranoia would inevitably return when the tealette fell asleep.

Even the best of days couldn't make her forget that Miku's father would return anytime the following day.

She could already imagine the scene, that fateful night at one in the morning. The inspectors, the black light, some special dust and who knew what else they used to find the slightest to clue to where the hell Miku had gone. She saw the photographer take pictures of everything. The bed. The scattered dirt in the basement. The broken lock, the boltless grate.

Miku's mother was probably already on her way home, on a plane, mid-air, over the Pacific. Chewing on her lip, frantically looking at her phone, doing anything to just get there earlier because her daughter was gone.

Gone.

Briefly, she wondered if she would be able to watch the news at all. And Miku? How would she react? 'til then, she had been handling everything amazingly well, and she got more and more joyful with every passing day. But how would she react before her parents on TV, after hearing that everyone on the planet was looking for her?

She worried, obsessively, in silence, about it all. All her fears and thoughts were endlessly recycled, repeated. She thought about the detectives, the missed clues, the parents, the fear. She thought about everything she was doing to them.

"Luka?"

The pinkette sat up. Miku was looking at her with tired eyes.

"Can't sleep?" she asked.

"No," Luka admitted.

"Want to talk about it?"

She hesitated. But finally, she whispered, "Sure."

Luka stood and sat next to Miku. The tealette seemed drowsy, but it didn't look like she had been sleeping either.

That was another concern that nagged at the back of Luka's mind. The tealette had promised to let her know of her 'demons', as she'd put it, but she had yet to talk about them. She trusted that Miku would open up about it in time, though: all she could do was wait for her to be ready for that.

"What's up?" mumbled the younger woman, stifling a yawn.

"I'm just thinking a lot," answered Luka. "A bit too much, maybe."

"What're you thinking about?"

"Your dad is coming home."

Miku stayed quiet for a few moments, before sighing, and muttering, "Already?"

"Yeah."

"He usually comes home super early in the morning," revealed the tealette. "So, yeah, anytime soon."

Luka nodded. They bathed in a comfortable silence, for Luka felt like Miku understood what she had meant. Even with how sleepy the younger woman was, the dots were easy to connect.

Miku yawned again and leaned against Luka's shoulder.

"You think I'll be in the news, tomorrow?" she asked.

"Probably."

"Hmm." The beginning of the tealette's sentence was cut off by yet another yawn. "I want to see what that will be like."

"Ok."

"You were worried?"

"A bit."

"That they might find something?"

"They'll probably find something; I can't stop that anymore. I suppose I'm mostly afraid of how you'll react."

Miku stayed silent, even yawns unable to coax a sound from her. Suddenly, she seemed a bit more awake.

"I don't know, either," she confessed. "But don't worry. I'll stay right here. I'm not gonna run away or something."

"Oh."

"You didn't think I might run away, did you?"

"No. I thought you might be sad."

The tealette giggled, "I've been sad before," topped with a yawn.

"True. But you've seemed quite happy, lately."

Miku inhaled deeply, and relaxed. "Yeah. I've been real happy. Happiest I've been in…" she trailed off.

Luka frowned, concerned. Miku, however, just seemed to be dozing off. She sat up, and let the tealette sink back into her bed. Before she could step away, however, Miku managed to usher one last question.

"Hey. You've been happy lately too, right?"

"Yeah."

The happiest she'd been in…

Could she even remember?

* * *

Neither woman woke up early the next day. Luka rose from the floor at one point and went on the prepare for the day, and found herself surprisingly calm for their given situation. Of course, there was some strange feeling, something akin to stage fright, that she couldn't seem to shake off. She knew it was due to the fact that they were probably the headlines at that very moment, and couldn't settle with the knowledge that from that point on, she could only watch. There was no point anymore in worrying what else she could do; all that was left to do was hide. But the jittery, antsy feeling clung to her nonetheless.

Miku woke up a little bit before noon. At first, Luka thought that she had forgotten about her father being back home because the younger woman didn't seem concerned at all. They had breakfast, Luka's portion still small, exchanged a few words about some of the songs they had sung the previous day, and the like. The pinkette almost forgot about everything herself, until Miku said: "I'd like to see the news, now."

Luka could only nod, the return of the stage fright enough to make her hesitate. Nonetheless, she made her way to her computer, Miku close behind. Luka didn't know much about the national, or even the local, news channels or networks, and had no idea where to start looking. She ended up typing in the name of their country and 'news' in her search engine, and sure enough, a few sites popped up. She clicked the first link, recognizing the name and guessing that it was probably the online site of the national news broadcast.

She didn't have to look much further: the first video had Miku's portrait in the thumbnail, and the title was everything she could expect. Without wasting a second she clicked it, and both women waited with baited breath for the live footage to load.

The news anchor appeared mid-sentence, Miku's portrait plastered on the right side of the screen. The woman obviously was very grim, delivering the information with a balance of professional neutrality and appropriate shock at the situation. Meanwhile, words slid across the bottom of the screen, quickly summing up all the information they knew about literally anything that needed to be known.

Luka immediately wanted to hone in on the words. All of them. The printed ones, the spoken ones. But it was too late; she already recognized the picture as one taken at Miku's previous birthday, the last time her mother had ever seen her. She could see the kitchen in the background, her father's hand on her shoulder.

It struck her so hard it made her numb. She could only come back to reality when the picture faded, replaced by a video of a man being interviewed. A tag identified him as one of the officers on-site.

"We're still trying to determine a lot of things, really," the man started. He was young, but his smile never quite reached his eyes. "When she disappeared is the big one. Her father was gone for a full week, and that's a pretty large window to work with. We're going to go over seven days of traffic surveillance and interview all of the neighbors. Of course, that's just two things on the list."

"That's terrible, that the time of the disappearance will be so difficult to pinpoint. Do you have any information that's more telling?"

A small, almost timid smile, before the officer answered, "Well, we've already figured out how they managed to get in and out of the building."

He refused to say more on that subject, so the interviewer continued, "Could you figure out if the girl was taken against her will?"

The officer smiled again, politely, and shook his head. "I'm afraid that certain details will have to remain classified for the time being, sorry."

"Do you have a suspect?"

"Unfortunately, no."

The interview cut away and returned to the news anchor who briefly thanked the officer for his time. She added another comment on the terrible nature of the entire situation before listing the facts they already knew.

The victim: a nineteen-year-old girl, daughter of two of the most influential economic figures. No suspect. No determined time of abduction. No hints of struggle, but it's possible that the victim had been under the influence of some substance.

No clue if the victim was still alive at all.

Luka froze at that. She's alive, she told herself. She's alive, she's safe. She's ok. They just didn't know. It was knowledge only two people in the entire world could use as comfort. As for everyone else? They would have to suffer the uncertainty.

Miku sniffled, pulling the pinkette from her thoughts.

"I've never been in the news, before," she said with a thin smile. "Not that many people get to, right? It's kind of cool I guess."

Luka looked at her carefully. She suddenly seemed so weak. She was shaking slightly, and her smile was as frail as a tower of cards. And then it hit her: Miku was about to cry.

The sounds from her computer were immediately drowned away, turned into nothing more than bland background noise. Before Luka could say anything, Miku continued as the first tears welled up in her eyes, "My parents, they never let me go outside. I thought they didn't want to see me go out. Or that they didn't want my face to be seen," she sniffed again, and Luka put her computer down, never taking her eyes off of the young woman. "For a long time, I actually thought something was wrong with me. I asked why I couldn't go to school. They said I would be safe, or that the world was dangerous. Only later, I was told that it was because of the violent competition. Economy and monopolies, and all that. I thought that because of all that, not a person, not a soul, that the world, the entire world, would never see my face. And, hey, would you look at that! There I am."

At that point, tears were running down her cheeks. Luka hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder.

"Yet, now that I'm finally free, now that I'm finally out, they want me back, Luka. They want to put me back in my tower and keep me away from all of the dragons and demons. They want me alone again."

Miku then turned towards her, her smile shaking, but her eyebrows slightly furrowed. "What dragons? For all I know, there's just that one guy, and you, protecting me from him." Then, voice wrung by emotion, she asked, "Luka. Is something wrong with me? Am I not like other people?"

The first emotion that hit the pinkette was anger. How could she think that? She thought of the books and movies Miku could have soaked up, all these stories about people, evidence of what humanity is like. All of the documentation on the Internet she could access within seconds. Yet, that didn't truly say much of real people, right? She never spoke with anyone outside of her family. She never got to look anybody in the eye.

She probably hadn't ever had anybody smile with her.

To live a life trapped with books and movies, cut off from the outside world, she could witness nothing 'normal'. With no experience, no reference point whatsoever, even autobiographies and non-fiction would fall under fantasy and sci-fi. Her only periscope to the outside was in the form of her parents, those who had ordered her containment in the first place. She probably had just enough knowledge from her books to know of bad guys and heroes, about manipulation, to know that the only people she ever spoke to could very well be lying to her.

Miku had absolutely no real reason to think that nothing was wrong with her.

That single realization made Luka's heart shatter and sink to her stomach. Forgetting about her self-consciousness, forgetting about it all, in a single mindless movement, she enveloped the tealette in a hug, a gesture which was welcomed with open arms. Miku sank into the embrace, and the pinkette could feel how she was holding back tears.

"Nothing's wrong with you, Miku," she mumbled, urgently. "Absolutely nothing."

"Really?" the younger woman managed to ask with an isolated sob. Her voice was muffled by Luka's shirt.

"Really! You have your quirks, but everyone does, honest."

"Quirks?" she whispered, almost afraid to ask.

"Yeah." Luka thought about it for a while, before saying with a grin, "People, they usually don't tend to like vegetables much."

Miku laughed, which made Luka's smile grow a bit.

"And, frankly, you're entirely too trusting," she softly chided.

The tealette laughed again but shook her head. "You keep your promises," she answered, voice still muffled but much happier than before. "And you're a great cook." Luka's smiled faltered as she just barely managed to stop herself from adding that she also attempted murder. Luckily, Miku kept speaking, not letting the pinkette get a single word in, almost as if she knew what the older woman was thinking. "You know, with how much you do your best to fix your own mistakes, with how much you worry, do your best, everything," Miku hesitated, briefly. "I've never felt safer."

That single statement was enough to make Luka pause. Suddenly, holding the tealette felt like something she shouldn't be doing at all. She felt like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar, trying to take something she hadn't asked for and couldn't have. Simultaneously, all of her discomfort returned: she remembered everything from her own bony frame, to how she had held the pillow against Miku's face.

The tealette swiftly pulled out of the embrace. Either she must have felt her get tense at the remark, or the expressed sentiment wasn't as solid as Luka had thought.

"Rapunzel always was my favorite princess," Miku muttered absent-mindedly as she looked at the screen. "I suppose that isn't so strange."

"It's not," Luka answered, focusing on the news as well, hoping to forget what had just happened. From then on, she would have to make sure that she wouldn't let herself get so carried away, she told herself.

The news proved to be devoid of information. Luka's worries evaporated somewhat, comforted that she had left few enough leads for them to be lost for the moment. Of course, the omnipotent power that had hired her remained a threat, one she couldn't ever forget. Still, knowing that the police weren't going to be knocking at her door was a comfort.

Eventually, the segment ended, and they promised to keep the public posted, should any new information be found. However, none of the other stories caught Luka's interest, so she simply got up and planned to go grocery shopping. Before she could leave, the phone rang. The tealette perked up at the never-before-heard sound.

"What?"

Luka sat up and walked over to the telephone, surprised and apprehensive.

"Oh, it's my parents," she said, a little relieved.

But then she froze.

"Your parents?" inquired Miku, putting the computer away. "Why don't you answer?"

"I'm supposed to be working right now," answered Luka, stepping back from the phone. "They think I have a job."

"Then why are they calling?"

Luka looked over at the computer. "They might be worried," she mumbled. "Because of the news."

Miku nodded slowly, putting two and two together. The ringing stopped. A handful of quiet seconds later, the phone rang again.

"I can't answer," stated Luka, half-angry.

"I understand," Miku replied, sounding sad. "Still, for them to call like that, they seem really concerned."

Luka nodded, stopping herself from telling stories of twelve missed calls and fifteen text messages from a worried mother to a late-partying teen.

"I'll call them back this evening," she said, returning to the couch, letting the ringing stop and start again. "When I'm 'home'."

They let the phone ring. When it stopped for the third time, Luka almost believed that it would be the end. But no, they called a fourth time, their number displayed on the caller ID.

That was their final try.

When the silence lasted long enough, Luka sighed and fell back onto the couch, thoughts of chores all but gone.

Miku shyly rolled over to face her. "Do you keep in touch with your parents often?" she asked.

"Every now and then." Luka hesitated before adding, "When I first moved here, I called them every evening. But, with time, that changed to about once per two weeks."

"Ah. When did you move here?"

"About three years ago, I think? I was nineteen." The information seemed to astonish the tealette somewhat, and Luka felt bad for sharing it. At nineteen, she could go to another city, independent. But Miku was still kept at home. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have," Luka trailed off, feeling stupid.

"No, it's ok," Miku mumbled. "I suppose I'm just curious about how family works with other people."

"It's different for everyone, really. Every family works differently; every family has their demons. It's never perfect. But, because it's family, we work it out. Or at least, we try to. We're supposed to, if we can."

Miku thought about it for a moment but didn't add anything. Eventually, she picked the computer back up, and Luka stood to buy some groceries.

When she came back, Miku was exactly where she left her: in front of the computer. The only difference was that her bed was made, and she had gotten dressed. She asked if anything new had come up, and Miku answered no. Luka quickly put away all of the food items and sat next to the tealette. The younger woman was browsing various news sites, some more or less local, some foreign, but nobody had anything new to say. There were simply dozens of articles about various other incidents, the economy, real estate, sports, natural disasters and worldwide politics, and suddenly, she understood why Miku was still looking around, even though she was not the world's headline. With a sad smile, and let the younger woman watch the outside world.

Only later would the tealette be satisfied with what she had seen, and they'd spend time together once again. They talked a lot, sang, and talked some more. After dinner, they looked at the news again, and Luka called her parents, lying through her teeth.

The next days would assume that pattern: in the morning and evening, they would watch the news, but the bulk of their day was spent together, away from everything else. At first, it had surprised the pinkette to see the younger woman so interested in the outside world all of a sudden: back home, she had avoided the internet, and Luka had blamed envy. But suddenly, Miku was all eyes and ears for the outside world. Maybe it was the fact that finally, she had a conversation partner. She could already imagine young Miku, sitting at the dinner table with her dad, trying to be interested in what happens out in the wild world, but tired daddy couldn't find the energy to contribute. Even if that was the reason, Miku had yet to actually discuss what they saw and read, and Luka was a little relieved: looking for a headline, an update, continued to make her nervous. Luckily, every time Miku would catch her biting and gnawing at her lips, pinching her or starting conversation. In any case, she thought that, should the tealette ask a question, she would do her best to answer, no matter how little she might know or how it would make her feel.

A week rolled by. A week spent in the semi-dark atmosphere of drawn curtains, spent waiting for the police to knock on their door, spent singing and laughing. Yes, despite the looming fear and terror, Luka couldn't help but get better and feel better. Her portions at mealtimes started growing again, and hours could go by without Miku catching her eating the inside of her own mouth. The biggest contributor was mere conversation: they talked about worries, fears, and at the end of the day, there would be nothing else haunting her. In parallel, Miku had finally revealed her own fears and worries, much to Luka's delight. Her main concern was that because of Luka's haunting, the tealette was constantly unsure of what to expect when she entered a new room. Even in Luka's three-room studio for one, walking from one room to the next was always accompanied by a terrifyingly gripping apprehension. Neither knew if it was paranoia or something like it, but Miku would inevitably be thinking about what was happening in other rooms. She felt compelled to go check, she admitted. In the studio, her fear was easy to hide: she simply had to look through the doorframe and she'd see all three rooms. But it didn't let her go, and even worsened when a door was closed.

Finding a solution, or any way to help beyond keeping all doors (except the front door) open, proved to be a challenge. Luka couldn't possibly pretend she wasn't there, or systematically put everything back exactly where she found it. They decided to do something similar to how Miku would help Luka with her biting, except it required total transparency on Miku's behalf: she had to voice every single time she was concerned about the other rooms. And like that, they kept each other in check.

A harmony of sorts managed to settle between the two. Luka would go outside and provide for them, while Miku stayed at home and kept an eye on the outside world. Where they met, they would help each other in unison. Small details continued to change: Miku's new sneakers eventually lost their new sheen and stopped squeaking, so they found their new place right beside Luka's shoes. At one point, they decided to share a moment with a mug of hot milk, or hot chocolate, before bed, and that habit stuck, too.

One morning, mid-September, while Miku was once again browsing the various online news channels and newspapers, Luka found nothing better to do than lie down on her couch and simply look at the ceiling. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Suddenly, Miku pushed against her leg, and Luka realized that she had been biting again. Other than that, nothing else happened. Nothing else was to be done at the moment. They had food, their clothes were clean, the doors locked, the curtains drawn.

It was in those quiet moments that it became painfully obvious to her that they were simply waiting. Waiting for confirmation from her 'boss' that they believed Miku was dead. And then what? Wait for a way out? For a miracle? This would all end someday, right? When? How?

"Oh, Luka! An update!"

The pinkette immediately sat up and joined Miku's side. 'Breaking News' was plastered across the screen. The anchor announced somewhat excitedly that the police had picked up a trail on the victim's location. Luka was sure she could taste her heart in the back of her throat. No matter how calm she had just been, she was already panicking. Miku wrapped an arm around hers', in silent support. The video cut to another policeman, who was standing in a park. The banner said that he was investigation officer, Hiyama Kiyoteru.

"We have reason to believe that she was brought here," he explained, before turning towards his left. "Right over there's the river that flows through, and under, this city, and the victim's right shoe was found right there, caught on a branch. Unfortunately, the implications aren't very good."

"Oh, that's why we went there," mumbled Miku.

Luka still didn't let herself relax quite yet, so she just nodded, her breath stuck in her throat.

"But there's hope," he continued. "We still haven't found the other shoe, so she might have been brought to the other side of the river, and lost it in a struggle. We have officers scattered over the entire area."

"What brought you here?" inquired the interviewer.

"Well, we went through the nights of street security footage and noticed that nobody fitting the victim's description ever appeared on camera around her home. So we looked at all places a kidnapper might want to bring their victim, away from cameras, and that isn't too far from the starting point. This was one of maybe four, five locations? Finding her shoe was incredibly fortunate."

"And what if she was pushed into the water?" was the next question.

"Of course, that's a possibility," he replied, sounding less enthusiastic. "The river is relatively safe: from here on, it doesn't feed into any systems, and simply goes to the ocean. It's shallow, and is rife with curves where someone can easily get out of the stream. Just in case, we've sent people downstream, of course. The only real issue is the part where the river flows under the city. Back in the day, they covered it up, because the constant humidity brought diseases. Now, it's not an easily accessible place, so we can't exactly search it. But as I said: there's hope."

"Any clues as to when the kidnapping occurred?"

"Not really. Of course, it must have happened while the father was away. Other than that, we can't pinpoint anything much more precise: just two days into his absence, there was a storm and numerous flash floods, and even after his return, but before we located the shoes, it's rained some more. So, there were no footprints around here, and any DNA left behind must have been swept away in a flash flood. We still have that one week window to work with."

From there, the news station thanked the officer before listing all the details, old and new.

"They think I might have drowned in a river," mumbled Miku. "And if I didn't, that I'm in the woods somewhere."

Luka couldn't answer, too focused on feeling her heart slowly calm down. They knew she was avoiding cameras, and that made her a bit nervous. But Miku was right: they were all around the river, and nowhere near their actual location.

"That was smart," complimented the tealette. "They all think I'm over in that park. That's far from here, isn't it?"

"I suppose. About fifty minutes of walking."

"Oh. I didn't think we had walked that long."

"We walked much more than that," replied Luka. "You were a bit out of it, I remember."

Miku nodded. "That night is just a foggy memory, now. I can barely remember anything. But hey! The people who are after me are probably happy. So, that's two birds with one stone, right?"

"Yeah."

"Nice." Miku trailed off, suddenly sounding uncertain. "So, we're safe now?"

Luka shook her head and stood, walked around, thinking. They weren't safe, she thought. Frankly, she had hoped that the police would never even find the shoe. The fact that they found a single shoe at all worried her. And sure, they had only followed her red herring, but they found it.

And who knew if her employer would ever take their eye off of her. Who knew if they would forget about her.

She suddenly realized that, with the police one step closer, they were probably less safe than before. Even if that wasn't the case, they probably wouldn't ever be safe.

"Luka, you're eating yourself again," scolded Miku as she stopped the pinkette from pacing anymore. The pinkette felt the hands on her shoulders, tried to draw strength from them. "Talk to me."

Luka did just that, told her all of her new worries, and felt slightly better after sharing. But she still felt nervous.

"I just don't know."

"We'll see how it goes," assured the tealette. "Eventually, the police will come to a dead end. And if they find my other shoe, the guy who wants me dead will be really happy. If they don't, I'll be missing for so long, they'll have to think that I had drowned! Don't worry so much."

Luka eyed her for a moment.

"You don't think they'll find you, don't you?" she questioned.

Miku frowned. "No, I don't."

"Why?" the pinkette insisted.

"Well, you did such a good job, with this distraction. Plus, you pulled another trick right as we arrived here, didn't you? You entered through the bathroom window."

"True. All streets leading to my front door are filmed at one point or another. The only way I could truly escape them is by taking a detour. But—"

"So we never were on camera together!" exclaimed Miku. "They'll never have any reason to suspect you, or to even come here at all!"

"Miku," Luka sighed, before continuing, "You were on camera. Sure, you were wearing my jacket, but surely, if they look at all of the footage long enough, they'll notice that suddenly I'm a bit shorter than usual."

The tealette rolled her eyes, so uncharacteristic, it made the older woman pause.

"Miku," she spoke slowly. "We cannot, ever, dismiss the possibility that you can be found here. Ever."

"Well, I think it's unlikely enough," she huffed.

"It may not be probable, but damn it, Miku, it's possible!" Luka barked. "It doesn't matter how much you don't want to be found, the fact that it's possible just doesn't care!"

Miku shrank back, and Luka realized exactly how she had been talking to the tealette. She groaned, hands on her face.

"I'm sorry, Miku. It's just—"

"It's not about them finding me," mumbled the tealette.

"What?"

"I don't want them to find you."

Luka blurted, caught off guard, "Miku, I—"

"I know, you'll end up in prison no matter what. But that's not what worries me. If they find you, and me, then all of your efforts would have been in vain, right?" Miku carefully inquired. Luka slowly nodded. "They'll get you, or your family, because you didn't kill me. That's why I don't want us to be found."

"Here I was thinking that you were scared that they'll try to kill you a second time."

"That's true too." Luka could only laugh breathlessly at Miku's dry confession. "But really, there's really nothing to be worried about. So please, stop worrying."

"I'll do my best."

"And, if I may, I'd just like to mention that you're not the only person who ever walks around here. So they'll never notice if the me on camera is supposed to be you. I could be anyone. That's another worry gone."

Another chuckle. "You couldn't help but just give one more little counter argument, couldn't you?"

"Nope," Miku confessed with a grin. "Especially if it makes you feel better."

"Well, it worked," admitted the pinkette.

"Wonderful," Miku was positively beaming. She turned around and turned the computer off, announcing without words that she wouldn't let them stress Luka out so much. The older woman grinned before sitting down, exactly where she was before the breaking news erupted. Miku joined her, and together, they stared at the ceiling for a few quiet moments.

Suddenly, Miku giggled, turned on her side to whisper, "You know, I was almost afraid that I had just gotten in my first fight."

Luka raised a brow. "Never fought with your parents?"

Miku shook her head.

Luka shrugged, not totally sure of what exactly Miku wanted to hear, "Well, I guess it was a little fight. I got a bit angry, sorry."

"No, it's fine. I just thought that fights didn't end well."

"They don't when people don't agree. But you're too good at making a point to let that happen," teased the pinkette.

Miku stuck out her tongue, declaring, "I've never fought in my life and yet I won!"

Luka blew a raspberry. "Only because you had so much free time to practice made up fights in your head!"

"Ouch!" Miku laughed. "Ok, I got nothing against that."

Luka smiled, relieved that her jab hadn't been misinterpreted. She was ready to blame the friendly burn on the pleasant mood. "Besides, a real argument usually gets more mean. They usually don't revolve around the idea of who wants who to stay safe."

"Huh. I suppose I can imagine that."

"Really?"

"Well, people want things. If two people want different things, then I'm sure that sometimes the confrontation doesn't go so well."

"Yeah. Especially when emotions get involved. Then reason doesn't work anymore."

"Uh-oh. I guess I should avoid emotionally-driven debates, then." Luka laughed, so sincerely it almost ached, which made the tealette smile. "Is this what people do?" she asked. "Just lie down and talk and laugh?"

"Yeah. It's been a while since I could do this with anyone. I've missed this."

They shared the silence again, before Miku quietly asked, "Is there something your family did that made you mad sometimes? Were there fights?"

The last word made Luka realize that Miku wasn't asking a casual 'how do families work' question. She remembered how Miku had dropped the subject earlier that week and thought that maybe, she was searching for something akin to her own situation. Luka paused, weighing the possible answers she could give. She couldn't lie and pretend that she had gone through a similar hell. Comparing to the tealette, she was a free bird, scratch that, a god. She could travel, act, influence, share. But with the way that Miku had worried and wondered if she was different, if there was something wrong with her, she felt she had to answer. Miku probably wanted nothing more than to feel less alien. But Luka wasn't sure she could be able to deliver that: she didn't have any nightmares to tell. There was only a story of slight heartbreak.

In the end, she supposed it would suffice.

"When I was little, I always wanted to sing," Luka offered, "My dad never said anything about that, but my mom, hm, 'recommended' I should take a different path."

Despite the small scale of the story, Miku seemed surprised. At first, Luka didn't think the small confession would touch her that much, although when she thought about it, it was more of an inspirational caging, over a physical one. Perhaps it was still relatable in a way.

"But you sing so well!"

"Thanks. But I had to admit that the chances of making a living from singing are slim."

"She didn't want to let you try?"

"She didn't want to see me heartbroken, I guess."

Miku thought about it for a long time, before asking, "What do you like to do now?"

"History is cool."

"Hm. My dad tried to teach me a little when I was young. But it didn't really stick, and I don't think he cared enough about it to make it fun for me."

"What did he teach you?"

"Economy. Politics. Math. My mom taught me how to read, write. Language stuff."

"No chemistry, physics, philosophy?"

Miku shook her head. "You learned about all that?"

"Yeah. School tries to teach us about a bunch of things."

"That's nice."

"Well, it's alright. But with your dad, if neither of you cared, you can just quit. In school, though, you have to learn, or you won't be able to get to what you really want to focus on."

"Ah."

Both stayed quiet for a while, until Miku finally asked, "What's school like, actually?"

They spent the day talking about the outside world. As Luka expected, eventually the questions went towards what she could have seen on the news. She inquired about important figures, international relationships. Often, Luka confessed to knowing only very little about many things, though the tealette didn't seem to mind. In fact, with every question asked, she seemed more and more overjoyed to have someone to talk to about such varied topics.

Time ticked on. Eventually, Miku wanted to actually learn about subjects she'd never gotten a chance to look at but realized quickly that none of them entertained her. "I didn't miss out on much, in the end," she declared as she closed a physics book. "Good thing I actually like economy as much as my dad does."

Then, the police found Miku's second shoe, stranded on the river bank about fifty kilometers outside of the city borders. The day thereafter, a letter appeared in Luka's mailbox. It read:

_We have seen the news. Due to your past record, we trust that you have disposed of the body in an efficient manner. As you can see, there is no return address included in this letter; from here on out, our business is over. Here is your last payment, plus a bonus, for making sure that the parents will never have anything to fill a grave._

_Thank you for your cooperation._

Luka scoffed, then handed the letter to Miku. Inside the envelope, she found triple her typical 'salary'. The wad of cash was probably barely under the weight limit for a single stamp. She felt it in her hand, the comforting weight of a packet of money.

It disgusted her.

"Wow," Miku mumbled, observing the letter sharply. "These— these guys…"

"Yeah." Luka couldn't find anything else to say. She threw the money on the table and sat on the couch. She didn't want to put it away and seal the deal. She didn't want to look at it.

"I guess it never really hit me how much they hated me," admitted the tealette. "Nothing to fill a grave?"

Luka nodded, grim. Miku sat beside her and looked at the money on the table. The mood was lower than it had been in days.

"Well, we have one thing at least. We're winning, and they don't know it."

The comfort couldn't reach Luka. She shrugged, unable to find something to say. The letter reminded her how exactly the two of them had met: in the past few merry weeks, she'd practically forgotten. Miku must have sensed it because she gently nudged the older woman.

"Do you think they'll let us be, now?" she asked.

"Maybe they won't watch as sharply. But…"

Miku nodded. Both knew that even with this final letter, they had to stay hidden. No matter if they waited ten hours, days or years, the moment Miku would step outside, everything would go down the drain.

Miku put the letter down. They sat there in silence, staring into the void. Somehow, they knew that they were sharing the same thoughts. Both wondered how it would all end. If it would ever end at all.


	5. Remedy

_You're too slow._

_Kill her._

* * *

Carefully, slowly, Luka ran her fingers through Miku's hair. The tealette was deep asleep, and Luka was trapped between her and the wall. Or, rather, she couldn't find much reason to stand and leave, for nothing really held her back. Nothing held her back but herself.

Everything was absolutely fine. At that point, being so close wasn't even unusual anymore. Every night, she would help Miku dry her hair after her evening shower, and most times, the tealette would simply doze off. At first, Luka would return to her own bed on the floor, but by mid-October, she didn't even bother. Usually, it was because she would be too tired to care. But that evening, she wanted to think some more.

It had been almost two months since she'd saved Miku. And in the past two months, she'd managed to kill her cannibalistic habit in exchange for proper meals, and was slowly on her way to total recovery. Miku's problems proved to be more difficult to solve. While keeping the doors open, and the honesty, helped, the apprehension continued to plague her. At one point, Luka gathered some money, bought some groceries, and left Miku alone for a week, just so that the tealette could experience complete solitude for the first time in over a year. The pinkette stayed at a hotel: she felt incapable of visiting friends or family at that point. Just in case her former employer had been watching, she stayed at a hotel close to the center of the city and used the opportunity to go sight-seeing. A fake vacation.

It helped a lot.

She had to admit that she had missed the tealette while she was away, and was surprised by how much she trusted that all would be alright upon her return. That was something she supposed was inevitable, Luka supposed. They did trust each other, and who wouldn't after spending so much time together? And it wasn't just the forced companionship: they legitimately enjoyed each other's presence. With that came friendship and all its hugs and jokes and laughs, and that broke Luka's heart a little. She remembered how she didn't want to bond with the girl, because she had feared the consequences, for good reason. At that moment, she was a little bit afraid of what would happen when the entire ordeal would end. She would miss Miku. She would miss singing with her, talking with her, sharing with her. And the fact that they had helped each other so much only made it all the more difficult. With a small smile, she remembered how Miku had insisted that they at least try to get along, how she explained that when they would be free, they wouldn't have anybody else to help them.

But now that they had mostly exorcised each other's demons, all that was left was trust and friendship. The inevitable separation would be heart-breaking. Nobody would understand it. Nobody would try to. Only she would know Miku as the positive, silver-tongued woman, and only Miku would ever remember her as anything other than a criminal.

So it was obvious that Luka didn't exactly want the tealette to go. Even if their enemy were to simply vanish, when it would be safe for Miku to come out, she would have trouble letting her leave. It wasn't the prison that scared her. It was the last thing on her mind.

Luka sighed, and lied down, resting her head on what had become her pillow on the bed. The cushions on the floor were, at that point in time, just a formality.

"Luka?" Miku mumbled, possibly startled awake by the movement. "You're awake?"

"Yeah." the pinkette whispered, still running her fingers through the tealette's hair. "Can't sleep."

Miku rolled over, sleepy but concerned. Luka's bed remained relatively small for two people, but that no longer worried her. She no longer felt self-conscious, and no longer worried about their proximity. Everything was fine.

"Something wrong?"

"No."

Miku looked at her, and Luka chuckled at how unconvinced she looked even in her sleep-riddled state.

"I'm just thinking, again," Luka assured the tealette.

"What about?"

Luka's smile faltered a bit.

"How much I'll miss you," she whispered, just barely above a breath.

"Hm. I'll miss you, too." Miku yawned, then ordered, "Now sleep."

In a single movement, the tealette closed her eyes and nudged a bit closer. Luka took the hint and loosely embraced the younger woman. Miku did the same, resting her forehead against Luka's collarbone, her hand hanging from the pinkette's back.

This, too, had become common. And as usual, both fell asleep within seconds.

* * *

Time kept ticking. Days passed one after the other, and before either of them knew it, it was mid-November. After the police had found Miku's second shoe, their leads had run hopelessly dry. Of course, everybody had started fearing the absolute worst, but her parents' spokesperson insisted that as long as they didn't find a body, they would keep hope. Nonetheless, everybody silently agreed that Miku was probably dead. The case hadn't exactly closed yet, but nobody spoke of it much anymore, not even in the news. The missing person posters remained, but the attention withered.

Miku admitted that it was slightly painful for her to think of parents at that moment. She wished she could reassure them, let them know that she was alive, but both women knew that it was impossible. At first, Luka did her best to help with the heartache: Miku clearly missed her parents dearly. Christmas didn't help, either: it was just around the corner, and it was one of the two days per year the tealette could see both of her parents together in the same room. The sadness doubled when Luka received an invitation to her family's annual Christmas dinner, and neither woman knew exactly what to do.

"I'm not sure I would be able to face my family at all. Frankly, I don't know how I managed to face them last year," confessed Luka, but she visibly hesitated. "It's probably a bad idea. I shouldn't go."

Miku said nothing.

Just as Luka wanted to call her mother to respond to the invitation, the tealette alerted her that there was an update to the story, the first in weeks. Luka, once again, panicked a bit on the inside but sat down next to the younger woman. Breaking News filled the screen, and the anchor announced that there had been an amazing breakthrough in Miku's case.

"A girl is missing, a man is dead, and another is being hunted. Just three days ago, an anonymous employee at Leonard Wolfton's, the country's largest estate agency, approached the police with the most significant evidence in this missing person case. These were letters, which were, apparently, written by the very person who has abducted the victim. The employee claims that he had been tasked with shredding the evidence, but due to their content, decided to do the right thing and hand them in."

"I can't believe it," mumbled Luka as she felt her heart plummet.

"After reviewing the letters and checking their legitimacy, the investigation officer worked his way up the chain of command, only to go to another company, a shell company, and yet another and another. Just before they could capture and imprison the man responsible, the suspect killed himself with a gunshot to the head."

"Luka!" Miku grabbed her arm. "Is she talking about…?!"

"Thanks to the evidence in his office, it would appear that the letters had been addressed to the deceased man, as the author wrote in extreme detail about the habits, and even the weaknesses, of the Hatsune family, almost as if they had been following precise orders."

"Oh my god."

"And now, we'll be interviewing the investigating officer."

Cut to Hiyama Kiyoteru, obviously exhausted, but with a glint in his eye.

"Sir, you've hunted down the person who, apparently, organized the whole disappearance. What are your thoughts?"

"Well, our first question when the letters turned up, was why someone would keep such evidence for so long, only to have it tossed in the shredder. But after reviewing the contents of the letters, we're thinking that the deceased planned to use them against their author, should things go south for whatever reason. But so far, that's just a theory."

"Do the letters reveal anything else?"

"Well, keep in mind I'm only allowed to share so much. It would seem that the Hatsune household had been watched for a long time: over a year. And for most of that time, the author of the letters had probably been living with them, in their own home! There's no way they would have gotten the kind of information they have otherwise."

"Do you have any clue as to the identity of the author?"

"No. There's no national handwriting index, like fingerprints. We can only guess if the hand is more feminine, or masculine, which is hardly sound science. We can analyze the kind of ink or even the pen they used, but that doesn't get us very far. And the paper isn't helping: it's something manufactured specially so that fingerprints are close to impossible to find on them. Not only is the paper especially coarse, which 'fractures' the potential fingerprint slightly, it's covered in an oleophobic substance, so that the grease and sweat naturally found on a person's fingers doesn't stick to the surface as easily. So, right now, we're struggling to find a single partially-complete fingerprint on the things. But it's thanks to the paper that we're almost certain that the letters were sent directly to the deceased: he had a whole stack of them put away, specially ordered to his name."

"Are there any indications towards the fate of the victim?"

"I'm sorry. The family hasn't allowed me to divulge that information. It's sensitive in nature, you see."

"So I'm dead," deadpanned Miku.

"Well, you don't have to be," Luka trailed off as the interview continued.

"Do you think that whoever wrote the letters is responsible for Miku's fate?"

"Absolutely."

"What do you plan to do now?"

"Find the author of the letters, of course. Right now, we're pulling the entire system of shell companies apart. It's rife with fake names and contacts, but something has to be in there somewhere. If the writer of the letters is an associate, we'll find them."

"Wonderful."

Back to the main anchor. But before the woman could speak, Miku shut the laptop.

Luka turned towards her. Her vision was fuzzy, and she felt that she was shaking. Miku, on the other hand, looked completely calm.

"So, is it finally over?" she asked, her voice even. "I can go home?"

Luka looked back at the laptop, shaking her head. "No," she answered. "Not yet."

The tealette seemed slightly puzzled. "Why?"

"It's not safe yet."

"How can you tell?"

Luka stood and paced to get her nerves out. "They kept the letters this long, Miku. He was ready, just in case I would lie to him."

"But he's dead now, Luka."

"So? I'm just a minor player in this whole situation, in fact, I'm not even sure if I would be an 'associate', and look at what he paid me! So, imagine what he paid to his actual friends, those truly loyal to him. Like the guy who took the pictures of my family. People like him would hunt and kill us for sure, should it come out that you're alive. They're still free."

"What if you are an associate? What if they have your name in there somewhere?"

"Then they'll come and interrogate me. And you'll hide until it's safe, or safer. Then I'll turn myself in."

Miku watched her as she spoke. Luka had gone from pacing to simply standing in the middle of the room, hands to her temples.

"So, I’m going to stay a little longer?"

"I suppose."

"How long?"

Luka looked at the drawn curtains, and replied, "A month. Let's give them a month. For now. Because I'll be damned if I allow everything to be ruined because we screwed up so close to the end."

"A month? That makes it a week before Christmas."

"Well then, consider it your Christmas present."

The tealette hesitated briefly. "Ok."

The wait was tense and dark. The autumn sun barely pierced the clouds, casting the studio in a muted darkness illuminated almost exclusively by the computer screen. The news was constantly on, because every day, at every hour, there was a significant update on the case. The first two days were simply a trickle of information about what had happened when the big boss killed himself. But three days after the breakout, the police published a few of the letters, in hopes that somebody could identify the handwriting. This made Luka nauseous: what if somebody she knew ratted her out before the time was right? After all, it was unmistakably her handwriting. She was just happy she didn't sign the things.

The published letters were varied in nature. Most were simple weekly reports: the dad likes his steak medium rare, Miku got up at eleven, and the like, though they published nothing that massively invaded the family's privacy. Others were more dramatic and detailed, and belonged mostly to the earliest letters, with some details blacked out. One, in particular, was the first full report of the father's and daughter's daily schedule. What times they woke up (precisely for the dad, an average for Miku), what they did, when he got home, what they tended to eat, when they went to sleep. There were long lists of what food they had in their fridge, their pantry. Descriptions of how Miku couldn't sleep.

Luka was mortified, and couldn't face the tealette for hours before Miku snapped her out of it: it was no news to her, after all.

Something else happened, so swiftly and suddenly, that Luka didn't know if she had missed it because of it all, or if the transition truly had been as violent as she thought. One day like any other, Miku was browsing the articles until she abruptly stood with an exasperated sigh. Before Luka could even ask if there was an update or anything, the tealette went on a long, long rant about her entire upbringing.

"I can't believe people actually start dating in high school!" she exclaimed in the middle of her outburst. "If they had let me out, I'd probably have a boyfriend right now! Not to mention all of the friends I could have!"

If only it had happened only once! To Luka's surprise, Miku would get inexplicably angry in a matter of seconds more and more frequently, even as the information in the news escalated. The tealette, when coaxed to explain her outbursts, would say that in those moments, she would realize that yet another thing she had never even thought was possible was easily accessible, had she just been allowed to be free. Often, she spat at the ridiculous nature of her confinement.

"They thought they were keeping me safe! But you know what they tell children who get lost in busy places? Just stay where you are, 'cause then you're easier to find! I don't think I should be surprised at all that something ended up happening!"

Luckily, the random and excessive nature of Miku's outbursts didn't affect their friendship, no matter how messy it could get when mixed with the frequent news. They still got along and could talk and sing for hours. Luka could share entire chapters of her life without accidentally making Miku angry, and thus, she never felt like it was her fault. Plus, the tealette insisted that it wasn't, ever, Luka's fault to begin with. In fact, even the news didn't seem guilty: her anger would manifest whether it stagnated or progressed. Everything was simply dawning on her, she explained through gritted teeth, so every now and then she had to let the steam loose. And she was quick to simmer down, usually after insisting that she would have a long word with her parents when she would be reunited with them, making these moments very short-lived. Then, the entire incident would be mostly forgotten until the next time she jumped up from the couch in rage. Try as she might, Luka couldn't help much when it came to those moments, or even in preventing them from happening at all. Anything was a possible trigger. She hated to think that her current situation was better than when she was alone in her parent's house, and that consequently, Miku no longer wanted to go home.

Unfortunately, she wasn't entirely wrong.

Meanwhile, amidst the outbursts and quiet, the outside world marched on. Every day there were stories of people who had been identified because of similar handwriting, some alleged witnesses, and some people even turned themselves in, which Miku thought was nothing less than weird. Often, there would be an elaborate report of yet another shell company turned inside out, of various names that had been found. Most importantly, major arrests were being made around the clock, some high-profile, others less so. One day, about two weeks in, the investigating officer said during an interview, "This has got to be the most fruitful kidnapping in history. We lost one person, which is in and of itself absolutely terrible, but never have we seen so many criminals, money laundering schemes, and assets tied to a single individual. Whoever the deceased was, he was the head of one of the biggest criminal organizations of the continent. Even if we don't manage to find the girl, it'll be the best thing that has ever happened for the security of this country."

Assassins, spies, thieves, and criminals of all kinds and of all walks of life were being tracked down, arrested, interrogated. With every passing minute, Luka didn't know if she was to feel comforted or worried. She spent most of her free time thinking about how much longer Miku would stay with her, torn between hoping it would last and hoping it would end (although the latter had nothing to do with the tealette's outbursts). Would it all go on for yet another year? As far as she knew, there was nothing that indicated otherwise. She'd thought about calling the police and being discreet about it, arguing that because Miku was an important case, they'd keep quiet if she wanted them to. But with her entire family and all of her friends at risk, she didn't want to try just yet.

"So many have been caught, Luka. I'm not sure we need to wait a whole month," stated the tealette at one point, and she sounded almost angry.

Luka wasn't certain if another outburst was on the horizon, or if Miku was angry at the wait. She could only reply honestly, "They're catching so many, but who knows how many still need to be caught. In fact, I'm thinking there's probably a hundred free for every one they get. I mean, they can't be that thorough, can they?"

Apparently, they could: Hiyama Kiyoteru and his team were doing an amazing job. By the third week, new missions to find and arrest some criminal became less and less frequent, and it actually felt like they were reaching the end of a list. They declared that they had found some person tied to Miku's case, but that person had also been found dead. By the body, a completely broken hard drive and an equally destroyed camera.

"I think it was the photographer, who took pictures of my family. The only other person who knew it was me, maybe."

"Why would they kill themselves to keep you hidden?"

"I'm the only one who knows what actually happened to you. I think that the most important thing to them is that you're never found. Not even your body."

Luka felt herself relax slightly at that news and started planning an escape more seriously. Miku, on the other hand, seemed to get more and more agitated. Luka thought, planned, and thought some more, but Miku couldn't keep a book and started detesting the news updates. Luka wanted to help her, but the younger woman had resisted her well-meant interrogations so fervently that at that point, all she could do was listen when needed.

Finally, Miku jumped up and started pacing with as much fury as she could quietly contain, and Luka stood as well, hoping to help if just a little, but the silence left her at a loss.

"What is it this time?" she asked, only curious and in no way exasperated. 'How can I help' was understood, as always, without saying.

"I just — " Miku scoffed, before coming to a halt before the older woman. Then, just as quickly, she kept pacing.

This was irregular, and Luka feared that this would be as mad as Miku could ever get. "Please talk to me," she implored, knowing deep down that her tries would probably be in vain, much like all other times.

Miku stopped again, at the other end of the room, looked Luka in the eye, and then paced again.

"I'm angry," she croaked, knowing fully well that it was obvious. But it was the way that she spoke those words that Luka understood that the tealette truly was angrier than she had ever been. "It's just—" she paused, and sighed.

Luka almost believed that it was already over. But then Miku declared, "I want to stay here."

"Excuse me?"

"I want to stay here!" Miku bellowed. "These past months have been the best in my life, Luka. I don't care if these rooms are the only ones I'll ever see for the rest of my life. I want to stay."

"That's out of the question," answered the pinkette in a level tone. "I'm thinking, day in, day out, about how I'm getting you out of here safely. You're not going to stay here forever."

"But it would be so much easier to let them all rot. They think I'm dead already, I mean, they read the last letter you sent them, right? Didn't they? So, what's the point in going back? Especially if they're going to trap me again!"

"They won't if you get two words in."

"I don't want to risk that. I'm staying."

Luka frowned, feeling her own temper flare up. Miku tended to be dramatic in her anger, but this was beyond anything she had ever seen. "Miku, I'm going to say this once. Don't you ever believe that this can be your new norm. Especially if it's the easy way out. Don't you dare."

For the second time in all of their days spent together, Miku rolled her eyes, and Luka could barely contain her reaction. Instead of an explosion of her own, she exhaled slowly as the tealette answered her, "'Easy way out'. It's not because it's easy," she scoffed.

"Explain, Miku," Luka urged, calm only with extreme effort.

"I told you, these weeks spent with you were the best of my life. I'm as happy as I'll ever be. With you, I have a friend, someone who will see me as who I am, not as some baby to be protected."

"Miku, I'm a friend, but that's your family!"

"Tsch, family. You treated me better than they ever have. You listen, you sing, you laugh, you share. You keep your promises. If I hear my dad say 'Just one more visit overseas' before he leaves me alone for a month, one more time, I'll wring his neck myself! And look, they won't even appear on TV. They send some spokesperson. What do they really care?"

"Miku, they love you very much. They went about it wrong. When you're free, you'll be able to tell them that."

"I don't even want to explain it to them. I shouldn't even have to, at this point! It's so ridiculous."

"That doesn't mean you can stay here."

"But I'm happy here, Luka!" Miku shouted, so loud Luka feared her neighbors might hear. "I'll never be this happy again! Nobody in my entire life has ever made me as happy as you have!"

"Miku—"

"I love you, Luka!"

The pinkette stared in a stunned silence. Miku frowned and looked away, but otherwise, didn't move. Eventually, her breathing slowed. But Luka hardly noticed any of that.

"You…?" she whispered.

"I love you," the tealette repeated, voice firm, eyes downcast.

Luka shook her head. "You can't love me, Miku," she countered. "You can't."

Miku looked as if she had been insulted. "How is this any different from being friends?" she exclaimed. "We couldn't be friends, remember? Look at us, now!"

"Miku," Luka started, hands raised in an appeasing gesture. "This is, in every way, different from just being friends."

"Is it because of the others? The Stockholm thing? Because we shouldn't?" Miku demanded.

She looked so angry, it was almost terrifying. But Luka was so desperately trying to balance reasoning with keeping herself level-headed, she couldn't even care.

"Oh gods, Miku. All of the above," she retorted. "Honestly, Miku, what are the odds that you actually fall in love with the first person you actually meet?"

"Well, if that person is you, I'd say they're pretty damn high."

Luka shook her head, realizing that the tealette was, for the first time, entirely beyond reason. "No, Miku. That just doesn't happen. It doesn't only look bad, but… I can't even begin to explain!"

Miku seemed to hesitate, but only for a split second. In that time, she gathered even more energy to fuel her rage. "What? Is it because I'm a woman? Because I'm three years younger than you?" Luka shook her head again, and tried to gather her words. Before she could, Miku continued, "I bet you actually love me too, and you just don't want to admit it."

The statement was equivalent to a slap to the face. "Excuse me?"

"Why else would you save me if every single person you loved was in danger? Who am I, compared to your family and friends? I bet you fell in love with me as you watched me. That's why you were feeling so guilty."

"How dare you!" snapped Luka. "I saved you because it was the right thing to do! The morally right thing to do!" she hollered. "And the guilt! If you're insinuating that I can't do the right thing, or feel bad for almost killing an innocent, without being deliriously smitten, then I'll take that as an insult, Miku! And an insult to literally every single one of my efforts to keep everyone safe!"

"But—"

"No, listen, Miku, because I've got something to say! Look at this room. Look at where you are! This is literally your entire life, Miku! This stupid little studio and your room back home! The only difference between the two isn't just the floor layout, Miku. It's me, the only person you know, the only other human you have ever met! I am the only friend you've ever had! Since we've spoken I've been your only link to the outside world, and your only savior from solitude. And that's without counting the fact that we actually get along, Miku! That we helped each other! And you love me? Excuse me if I don't believe that it's an amazingly fantastical coincidence. I'm all you have, Miku. Of course you love me. You would love me if I were a sixteen-year-old boy or a seventy-five-year-old grandmother."

Miku stood in silence. Luka inhaled, and exhaled.

"And, if I may, I'd just like to mention that you're four years younger than me most of the year, Miku. But what does that matter."

Luka took her hoodie, her keys, and left.

She walked around for several hours. By the time she even started going home, the sun had already set and the autumn wind started biting. The sky went from orange to dark blue to black, Luka forcing herself to calm down with every step she took. She couldn't let anything of the new situation catch her off guard. After all, lives were still at stake, even with Miku's sudden shift in attitude, her declaration, and the accusations. She was willing to see this all through, no matter what. It was their first real fight, and she wouldn't let it ruin it all, no matter how they had yelled at each other.

Luka sighed. She ended up wishing that Miku would have confessed earlier, before the news broke out, or in a quieter context. In all of her rage, it had been impossible not to get angry at her in return. Had they been calm, Luka would have turned her down with more tact and sensitivity. She knew what it was like to be rejected, and could only imagine how Miku was feeling in that moment, because despite it all, the pinkette knew that it felt real to Miku. She wouldn't declare such a thing if she wasn't convinced that it was so.

Her violent anger remained a slight worry. It had started so suddenly, and had erupted so unexpectedly. Luka wanted to blame the commotion. Or maybe, it was the thought of going home soon that made her agitated. She sighed, remembering a calm and rational Miku. The only thing she still recognized in the tealette was her drive to get what she wanted. But with her reason out of the window, her arguments had the structural integrity of a castle of cards. No, the younger girl wouldn't win this one, couldn't win. And not just because she can't debate in such a state: even if Miku were to regain a calm mindset, this was one debate Luka would stand her ground in, no matter what kind of fantastic and amazing argument the tealette would conjure. Part of her wished that Miku would actually try, for if she did, that would mean that the Miku she knew and loved would have returned.

Luka opened the door to her studio slowly and carefully, but without apprehension or fear. Miku was sitting on the couch, looking out one of the windows. Even on cloudless nights, the city lights made so that the stars were impossible to see, but she was looking at something intently enough for her to forgo any greeting.

Luka paused to get a good look at the situation. Nothing was broken, in fact, nothing had been moved. Even the computer stayed on, the bright screen's light painting the room in a myriad of ever-changing colors. Despite the late hour, the tealette was still dressed in her day clothes. Suddenly, Luka was brought back to when she had first seen her there, sitting on her couch, and her chest ached.

Luka locked the door, put away her hoodie, and slowly walked towards the tealette. Miku turned towards her when she stopped before the couch. Her eyes were red, and Luka could see the outside lights reflect off of the tears on her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Luka," Miku breathed. The pinkette could hear the next sob in her voice. "I'm sorry."

The older woman sat down in front of her. She wished she could reach out and wipe her tears away. "I'm sorry, too," she said. "I was harsh."

"I was mean."

"You were angry."

"Yeah. Because I knew that nobody would take me seriously. Because nobody would believe that I could actually fall in love with the only person I know." She sniffled. "That's what I've been getting angry about. I would think of how wonderful you are. How kind you are. How much you try to see literally everything through. And this feeling would just swell up inside me, this feeling, and this wish. I wish we'd met in literally any other way. Any other way at all. Because right now, the way you make my heart beat, the way you make me happy, it all means nothing. Nothing at all. And it never will, ever, even if I still loved you in fifteen years, because you happened to be the first person I met."

The reason caught Luka off guard. Weakly, she questioned, "You sounded so angry against your parents, though."

"Of course I'm angry at my parents!" Miku sniffed and coughed a few times, in quick succession. "It's all their fault! They stopped me from ever getting the opportunity to meet you in a normal way."

Luka let the words sink in but still refused to budge when it came to her decision.

"Sometimes, I would wonder how we could have met," Miku said, tears still running. "Maybe, just walking in the street. Maybe you'd follow me one day. That's my favorite one."

"That I follow you?"

"Back when you just did it for fun. Not for money or because you were scared because your family was in danger. When it was harmless. When you followed people just because. Because it was fun. You'd pick people because you could. You'd choose."

Miku didn't say any more for a few minutes, but Luka didn't feel like it was her turn. Eventually, she decided to speak nonetheless.

"Miku, I do believe that what you feel, well, feels real."

The tealette looked almost hopeful, but Luka could only give a sad smile. "That doesn't mean we can be anything other than friends."

"Is it because of what you said earlier?"

"Yes. I wish I could have explained that differently. But regardless of how it was said, it's still—"

"A valid argument," finished Miku. She sighed, then croaked, as if the words physically hurt her, "I'm not winning this one, am I?"

"No."

Silence settled between them once again, and it felt somewhat uncomfortable. Luka had forgotten that feeling: she had been so at ease with the tealette for so long, and the return of this awkward atmosphere was legitimately painful. Miku continued to cry with only sniffles.

"Luka. I would take this rejection if you were to one to say no to me. Not the others."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Not once did you say that you didn't like me that way. Only that others wouldn't like us. So, just say that. It would be easier to take. A personal 'no, thanks', from you to me."

Luka inhaled that slight inhale to start a sentence, but found it stuck in her lungs. Miku waited, eyes fixed on a point far, far away.

"I don't like you. I'm sorry."

"Thanks." Miku smiled a small sad smile, and turned back towards the night sky with a sigh. Luka watched her relax, her heart pounding against her ribcage, a strange flavor coating her tongue. She watched the tealette, and saw how calm she seemed. Was the conversation over? No, she refused. It may all be settled for her, but Luka felt that their entire friendship was hanging in the balance.

"Please, Miku. We need to talk about this."

"What's the point?" she whispered. "Nothing's going to fix this."

Luka frowned. "Miku, we're both miserable, right now," she pressed. "Please, help me fix this. We've only been like this for a few hours, and I already miss what we had."

Miku looked away from the sky, somewhat incredulous. "You— you do?"

"Of course, Miku! Everything went from absolutely wonderful to depressing in a heartbeat. How could I not miss it? And with what's going on right now? I don't think I would be able to handle it."

"I thought you would be disgusted with how I'd been with you."

"What?"

"The hugs and stuff."

"Never. That's what friends do: they're nice to each other. We were friends, and I want us to keep being friends."

"Can we?" Miku said as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "Even if you knew how I really feel?"

"Oh, I say that we should at least try!"

"Try rewinding? As if it never happened?"

"No, Miku. I won't pretend that what you feel just doesn't exist. I don't want to do that to you."

"So, just be friends again?"

"Yes."

"You would still hug me?"

"If you want, I will."

"Why aren't you right now?"

"I was afraid that I would hurt you."

"You couldn't hurt me anymore. Even if you tried. You tried to kill me, then you broke my heart. There's nothing you can do anymore."

With that Luka enveloped the sobbing tealette. Immediately, the younger woman collapsed into the embrace and sobbed violently.

Much later, when she calmed down, Luka whispered, "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Miku mumbled between sniffles. "I thought you hated me. Were angry. Disgusted."

"Never."

"You'll still miss me when I go?"

"More than ever."

Eventually, Miku pulled out of the embrace, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm. Luka watched her carefully, hoping to never again see the tealette so distraught.

"Thank you," the younger woman mumbled. "For being my friend. No matter what."

"Of course."

"I was ready for you to push me away."

"Never. Not with what we've gone through."

Miku sighed deeply, her exhale shaky, and whispered, "Thank goodness. I don't think I would have been able to handle it, either."

Luka nodded, silent. She saw the tension leave the tealette's body, and felt that she could finally relax, too. Then, Miku yawned, and she mumbled, "Hm. I’m tired."

Luka chuckled, and left the room so that they could get changed into their sleepwear. She returned with their mugs of warm milk, Miku accepting hers' with a soft smile. When the tealette laid down to fall asleep, Luka watched her, unsure of the unpleasant flavor that still rested on her tongue.

Miku's outbursts disappeared, and Luka knew it wasn't just because she had suddenly accepted her parent's raising methods. The return to normalcy was unbelievably welcome. They continued to watch the local news, but even that had quieted down. The calm enveloped them, and they allowed themselves to bask in it, to savor the inactivity. They continued to sing, to talk. And every night, Luka would help her dry her hair.

Of course, the question of how long Miku would stay remained, and Luka continued to plan escapes, no matter how stranded they were. The tealette no longer requested to stay, but that didn't mean that she tried to help in finding a way out. The pinkette could only smile at that, no matter how childish, even selfish, it was.

Once again, everything was absolutely fine. Neither expected anything to rise between them anytime soon, and for many days, they were right. But the world kept spinning, and as more and more days went by without the police issuing another manhunt for some sniper or dealer, it felt like the coast was clear. Even more so when the investigating officer was, during an interview, disappointed that they hadn't found Luka amid the thousands of names.

"We've arrested hundreds of men and women, looked at thousands, tens of thousands of names. But whoever wrote those letters wasn't one of them. Must have been some outside person."

"Has anybody managed to identify the handwriting?"

"Dozens claimed they knew somebody who could be the kidnapper. An equal amount confessed to being the kidnapper themselves. But evidence never lined up. Those accused had alibis if their handwriting didn't totally match up, or their favorite words weren't the same. And those who confessed just didn't know any more than what we revealed to the media."

Their sources, as lucrative as they were, had finally run dry. And for Luka, time had finally run out. And yet, she hesitated. She wondered if it really was safe enough. She woke up, expecting another huge manhunt for a thousand other criminals. Not an hour went by without her picking up the phone, before putting it back down. All of the plans she had made crumbled to dust. She couldn't remember a single dialogue that she had rehearsed, and when she wrote them down, they only ended up discarded. And all this amid the advertisements for Christmas presents, the never-ending songs, and the knowledge that the annual Christmas party was coming up, and she still hadn't RSVP'd.

After all, what could she tell them?

_Sorry. Can't come. Going to jail._

Luka held the phone in her hands as she looked outside. Snow was falling, coating the entire city in its blanket of silence. Some neighbors had suspended decorations, lights, Santa's climbing up ladders. People with shopping bags and children with boxes walked the streets below.

Everybody was filled with the holiday cheer. Everybody had forgotten all about Miku in exchange for finding every little reason to celebrate. Even the arrests that Miku's kidnapping had provoked were considered great reason to rejoice. But nobody worried about the missing girl.

Luka couldn't focus. Miku watched her.

"Luka," she started, voice firm but quiet. "I don't think we have to wait any longer."

The pinkette wasn't even surprised at the younger woman's initiative. With how the pressure had been building, how this mental clock kept ticking. No, it was no wonder she wanted it to come to an end. Even more so with the festivities. Luka could already picture Miku's parents waiting by the phone, the snow piling up on their windowsill, hoping to see their darling girl one last time. Maybe, just maybe, even Hiyama Kiyoteru thought about the girl he was tasked to find as he enjoyed dinner with his family, thought about finding her before the 25th rolled by.

She inhaled deeply, gripping the phone without looking at it. Miku joined her, staying behind the curtain. Together, they looked at the people who walked by right under the window.

Too many clouds. The air was gray and the snow matte. The studio was dark.

It was finally time to leave.

"I'm not sure what to say."

"You'll ask to speak to Hiyama Kiyoteru. You have a lead on the case."

"Right."

"You could ask him to come visit. Quietly."

"Yeah."

"You could even add that you don't feel safe, if you want. So that they don't make a big fuss about it."

"Hm."

Luka's fingers ran over the rubbery keys. She knew the number. Three digits. It would be so easy.

"What's stopping you?" questioned the tealette, almost a whisper.

Luka looked away from the world, and looked at the tealette she had fought so hard to protect. The girl she had hurt and who she had saved. The girl who had saved her. "I suppose we ought to say goodbye first, right?"

Miku deflated, all of her courage and determination seeping out of her, and it broke Luka's heart.

"I don't want to say goodbye," she admitted, standing up and walking away from the window. "I really don't."

Luka followed, letting the curtain fall back into place. "At least it's not a farewell, I hope," she whispered.

Miku nodded, and Luka saw that she had started crying. She wrapped her arms around the younger woman's shoulders, but couldn't find anything to say.

"I hope your family stays safe," Miku muttered, returning the embrace. "And that the police will be nice to you."

"I hope you don't get locked up again," responded the pinkette. "And that you go out and see all of the things you always wanted to see."

They shared the silence. The alarm clock showed that three o'clock had passed. Miku pulled away, and went to put on her shoes. In that moment, Luka finally found the strength to dial the emergency number. She sat down on the couch. A dispatcher answered swiftly.

"Hello," started Luka. "I have some information about the missing person's case."

"Could you specify?" asked the dispatcher, and Luka felt silly for presuming that there was only one missing person in the entire country.

"Mi— Miku Hatsune," she replied. Miku sat down next to her, shoelaces still untied. "I'd like to speak to Mr. Kiyoteru, please."

"Very well. I'll try to transfer your call, but he may be busy. If he is, you can call again later on his personal number."

Immediately, the line went silent, and they waited. Miku leaned against the pinkette, crying quietly, listening. Finally, someone picked up. It was the investigation officer. He sounded much gruffer than when on television, and without seeing his face, Luka wasn't sure if he was tired, impatient, or both.

"Hello," repeated Luka.

"I've been told that you have information about Miku Hatsune."

"Yes." She hesitated, but Miku nudged her shoulder, encouraging her to continue. "You've tracked this call, haven't you?"

"Of course."

Luka gulped, and continued, slowly, "I have but one request, sir. Please, please be quiet about what I'm about to tell you."

The line stayed quiet for a handful of seconds, before he answered, "Very well."

Luka realized that she was shaking, and could only find her voice when Miku nudged her again.

"Miku is here, with me. She's safe," she started. "Please, no sirens, no army. I'm unarmed, I'll surrender peacefully. J-just ring the bell, and we'll come downstairs."

There was an unsettling silence. Immediately, Luka feared the worse: somebody had hijacked the call and now they knew that Miku was alive, they were coming for her, for her family—

"I understand. I'll be there soon."

"Oh. Ok," she stammered.

He hung up.

Miku tightened her grip, and Luka could only reciprocate. "I'll miss you," whispered the tealette. "Lots."

"I'll miss you, too." replied her friend, still shaking. "But it's time to go, now."

Miku nodded, and they parted to get their things together. Luka collected the various safes, their keys, the two letters she had kept, and the photos. Miku tied her beloved shoes. When it was clear that there was nothing left to prepare, Luka stood by the window, the curtain pushed aside just enough for her to see. Miku joined her.

They looked at the street. Sparse traffic, a few empty parking spots. An occasional pedestrian walked by, merry.

Nothing special. Nothing else.

Miku, still hidden behind the curtain, whimpered.

"I'm a bit scared, Luka," she confessed. "With you, I knew what to expect. I wasn't alone, I wasn't bored, and I was safe. Now…"

Luka let the curtain go so that she could embrace the younger woman again, her hands still shaking, her voice uneven. "I'm scared, too."

Miku sniffled, holding back tears. "No matter what, will we be friends?"

"No matter what."

"Will you tell me when you get out of prison?"

"Of course."

The sound of snow being crushed, a car pulling over, startled them. Luka looked out of the window, and saw a seemingly ordinary mini-van stop to park. She was almost relieved, disappointed, frustrated, until she recognized Hiyama Kiyoteru as he exited the vehicle. He wasn't alone: three other officers were with him, all in their full uniforms. They made their way to the door, out of Luka's view.

"They're here," she declared, voice weak.

And the doorbell rang.

"Should I go with you?" asked the tealette as Luka made her way to the door, hoodie in hand. The pinkette nodded, and together, they headed downstairs. Through the distorted glass in the door, they could make out the silhouettes. Without a word spoken, Miku went to stand behind Luka, sticking to her like glue, a hand on her shoulder in support.

Luka opened the door slightly.

"Hello," she greeted, quietly.

"Luka Megurine?" asked the officer. "May we come in?"

She let them in, but Miku stayed behind her, away from the eyes of passerby's. When the last officer was inside, Luka closed the door. The six of them stood in the narrow hall, all eyes on Miku.

There they were.

There she was.

"There's nothing else?" asked Hiyama.

"There are a few things in my studio. Some evidence," answered the pinkette.

"Very well."

He then ordered two of the officers to accompany Miku to the car, and for them to sit with her until he returned. Then he made so that Luka would guide him and the remaining officer to her studio.

"Wait!"

Everyone turned to the tealette. She was speechless, but Luka understood. Wordlessly, she gave her the hoodie she was wearing, and pulled the hood over her head.

"Keep it," she said.

The tealette nodded, visibly on the verge of tears. Luka watched as her friend turned away, one officer on each side. Before she could disappear, Miku called out one final sentence.

Thank you.

In Luka's studio, the two officers collected the safes and the photos. The pinkette realized that there was trash to take out, laundry to be done, but what did it matter. When all was gathered, her door locked, when there was nothing else to do, she wordlessly followed them back to the car.

Miku sat in the front of the car, between her two guardians. But Luka was led to the back. The sky was grey. The ground was white. Everything was quiet. As the doors were opened, Hiyama read the letters, and she couldn't help but notice. He looked up at her. She smiled sadly, and held out her wrists.

Luka was cuffed, assisted into the car.

Finally, they drove off.

END PART 2


End file.
